Take This Hand, We Can Do It
by eccentricpetal
Summary: He is Sherlock Holmes; he see's everything... yet he never saw this coming. This isn't in his division. How can he handle it? He fears he can't. She thinks that's bull. He is Sherlock Holmes; he can handle anything.  HIATUS
1. It All Went On

**Take This Hand, We Can Do It. **

**Authors Note: **So, break is over! It's been a nice break, I won't lie but I'm ready to start writing daily again. I was going to be writing a oneshot to go with _Give His Heart a Break_, and I still might yet, but right now I want to start a fresh. I've been toying with this idea since the middle of GHHAB and now I'm ready to write it. I don't really know where I am quite going with this story. I've been busy and not had time to plan it out and right now, I know the first chapter and possibly the second – we'll see. So, please enjoy!  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>I do not own Sherlock in any way or form.

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><p><strong>Chapter One: It All Went On.<strong>

Four years.

It took four years to make sure everything was safe.

It took four years to clear his name.

It took four years for him to reveal himself to the public.

It took four years for him to return _home_.

But he did.

And everything was _different_.

Lestrade and his wife were divorced.

She was pregnant with his child though.

Anderson had finally left his wife.

He was currently living with Donavan.

Heck, even Molly Hooper was seeing someone.

It wasn't serious.

It _wouldn't_ last.

That wasn't too different.

_Thank God_.

The biggest difference though… that was _John_.

Sherlock had steered clear of him for four years.

Molly had kept him up-to-date on how John was doing.

He didn't want to know the finer details.

He didn't quite trust himself not to just pick up his phone and text him.

So, he settled for either 'good' or 'bad'.

Molly was the only one who knew he wasn't as dead as the world believed.

He'd grown close to her during the past four years.

He trusted her even more than he did the night life changed.

He thought she would have at least had the decency to tell him… _this_.

John had met _someone_.

John had met a _woman _to be precise.

It had happened a year after his 'death'.

Her name was Mary Morstan.

One year after they had begun dating, John proposed.

Mary accepted.

Another year later, they wedded.

* * *

><p>That was precisely three months, four days, and six hours and twenty-two minutes ago.<p>

Sherlock was now sitting in the living room of the Watsons' house.

Mary was in the kitchen; she was preparing a pot of coffee.

John Watson was sitting in the armchair opposite Sherlock, he was on the sofa.

He hadn't uttered a single word yet.

He'd opened the door.

For a moment he had just stared before stepping aside and letting him in the house.

Mary had been welcoming.

Sherlock didn't quite like her.

It wasn't right for someone to be so calm about him being here.

He was a dead man after all.

Mary had ushered both men in to the living room.

She had helped John in to his armchair and then turned to Sherlock.

"I'll put on a pot of coffee; black, two sugars, correct?"

Sherlock had given a slight tilt of his head and Mary left.

That had been ten minutes and twelve seconds ago.

Sherlock was beginning to get irritated with John's silence.

He'd expected anger.

This was far from anger.

He had prepared himself for anger.

This wasn't anger.

He couldn't handle this.

What if John needed… _comforting_?

Sherlock almost let a shudder ripple through his body.

He could _not_ comfort.

He would _not _comfort.

Wasn't that a job for his… _wife_?

Sherlock's eyes narrowed.

John had moved forward a little.

"I knew you weren't dead."

"How?"

"You love yourself too much to commit suicide."

Sherlock's lips twitched slightly.

"Also, Molly kept hinting. They were subtle hints and I didn't pick up on them straight away. But after a lot of deducing – you would have been proud – I began to see what she was trying to say. I went back to that day and it all made sense, after a year. Molly was the one Moriarty wouldn't have factored in to the game… she was your most valuable piece who could help you win it all."

Sherlock's lips formed a more noticeable smile.

"I'm impressed."

"It took me a year after your death for me to consider the possibility. Then I began to notice Molly and a year later I thought I had figured it out. I was just waiting for you to return."

Sherlock smirked.

He said nothing.

John continued.

"I told Molly my theory one day. She told me that was ridiculous. Never again did she hint to the possibility of you still being alive."

Sherlock was slightly surprised.

He wouldn't admit that though.

He never knew Molly had it in her to be subtle about such a subject.

"I looked at the situation as if I were you."

"I taught you well," Sherlock murmured.

John smiled.

"I should probably punch you in the face."

Sherlock nodded his head in agreement and waited for his friend to continue.

"But I'm not going to. I'm happy you're alive."

"Will you be returning to Baker Street now, John?"

John's eyebrows rose.

Sherlock asked that as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

"Sherlock, I am married."

"I figured that much."

Mary returned with the mugs of coffee.

"So, I'll be living with my wife."

Sherlock frowned.

"I see."

Mary held out Sherlock's mug.

Sherlock didn't take it.

Sherlock didn't even look at it.

She said nothing and placed it on the coffee table.

Mary Watson had heard enough stories about this man to not be offended by his behaviour.

Sherlock sat back on the sofa.

"How do you expect me to pay rent?"

"Find a new roommate?"

Sherlock's eyes narrowed on him.

"I liked my old roommate."

"And I liked mine but he decided to go and fake his death."

John was beginning to get angry with Sherlock.

Oh, how he had _missed _him.

The thought made him roll his eyes.

"Sherlock, you haven't been around for four years. A lot has changed since then. I'm still your friend and I will still assist on cases when you need me to. However, I am not going to be living with you. I will not be feeding you. I will not be doing your bidding. I have a wife now, I have a family now."

"You have a wife, John. You don't have a family."

Mary couldn't contain the smile from growing on her face.

Sherlock noticed it.

His eyes fell to her stomach.

How had he not noticed?

The signs were all there.

The small bulge of her stomach was already perfectly round.

"That's not quite true."

"Three months and two days?"

Mary nodded her head at Sherlock's question.

"John certainly wasn't over exaggerating your observational skills."

Sherlock ignored her remark.

His eyes turned on to John.

There was a slight coldness to them.

Oh things had _definitely_ changed.

"Congratulations, Dr Watson, Mrs Watson; what a _delightful_ piece of news!"

John glared at his friend.

"Thank-you." John hissed at his friend and stood up.

Sherlock stood up also.

Mary watched the pair and sighed.

They were like school children.

"Boys…" She warned.

Her tone of voice made Sherlock turn to glare at her.

She remained unmoved by the action.

"It was a _pleasure _to meet you, Mrs Watson."

"As it was you, too, Sherlock."

Sherlock made his way to the door, his coat flowing behind him in a way that John had missed.

"We want you as the godfather, Sherlock."

If it were anyone else but John, they wouldn't have noticed the slight pause in Sherlock's step.

But John saw it.

He knew the statement had shocked his friend.

He knew the whole encounter had shocked his friend.

He knew Sherlock.

He knew it would take some time for him to get used to the changes in his life.

The only thing John hoped for was that in the end Sherlock accepted this new life.

If he didn't and he made John choose between his family and himself, well, John already knew his decision.

He'd pick his _family_.

He'd pick his family _any day_.

Things had changed.

John was happy now.

He hoped Sherlock would be happy soon.

He hoped he wouldn't lose him again.

He feared this time it would be harder.

* * *

><p>He watched the door slam shut.<p>

He sighed and turned away from it.

He made his way back in to the living room.

His eyes fell to the mug of untouched coffee on the table.

He looked to his wife.

"You know he only didn't drink that to spite you. He really wanted a coffee. I bet he's on his way to Starbuck's right now, getting himself a crappy cup of coffee."

Mary laughed and moved to her husband, wrapping her arms around his chest.

"Oh, I know. I hope it makes him throw up."

She laughed.

He chuckled.

John stood there and stared down at his wife.

He didn't like to wonder where he would be right now if it weren't for her.

She had saved him.

No one knew that.

She had saved him from taking his own life.

He only hoped Sherlock would realise that soon.

He wanted Sherlock to know just how special Mary was.

He wanted Sherlock to see how Mary Morstan, now Watson, was someone worth counting.

* * *

><p><strong>Authors Note: <strong>There is the first chapter to my new story. While writing this I started to form some idea of where I want this to go and so I'll be writing a plan of sorts. I just don't really have an ending in mind yet. The real story won't kick in until around chapter three/four. I'm not sure yet. Most likely chapter four! This story is going to be an emotional ride and Sherlock is going to learn so much. I've really wanted to write this and I'm so glad to have the chance to. The next chapters are basically going to be giving the back story that I think you all need to know. Let me know what you think so far? That would be highly appreciated.

Thank-you for reading.

Petal.


	2. The Woman She Is

**Take This Hand, We Can Do It.**

**Authors Note: **Thank-you for all the response I've got to this story already. I am glad you like it. This chapter is going to be filled with a lot of Sherolly friendship. I don't know if they'll be anything else in this chapter, yet. I just want to give you all the feel of what their relationship is currently like. Also, I've planned up to chapter nineteen. I'm still unsure of the ending. I don't really like my plan yet. The story might be shorter than nineteen chapters or longer. I'm gonna edit it soon. Anyways, no more rambling from me… enjoy!  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>I am not the genius that is Moffat, Gatiss or Doyle. So I do not own.

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><p><strong>Chapter Two: The Woman She Is.<strong>

With his crappy cup of coffee in hand, Sherlock found himself wandering in to St. Bartholomew's hospital and traipsing down the stairs to the morgue.

He was certain a doe-eyed, pathologist would be there.

He was certain she would be bent over the desk in her office.

Unlike last time, he doubted she would be sleeping; she would be vigorously tapping away on her far too slow computer.

He could see her in his head.

A stray piece of hair, which had fallen from her messy ponytail, being blown from her face in frustration, as she watched the computer still for a few moments before the words, she had previously been typing, appeared.

He raised the coffee to his lips as he pushed open the morgue door.

A grimace fell over his face as the liquid hit his tongue.

_Vile_.

He walked towards the open office door; as predicted there was Molly Hooper.

The stray strands of hair falling back in to place after being hit with her breath.

She didn't seem to notice him in the doorway.

She was already back to typing away manically.

He looked at the clock on the wall behind her.

She finished in half an hour.

She must still have a lot of paperwork to fill out.

Sherlock sipped on his coffee again and shuddered at the revolting taste.

Why that place was so popular, he didn't know.

"This coffee is dreadful."

Molly jumped.

He could have sworn he heard a squeal of surprise.

He shook his head.

She really shouldn't still be doing that.

Her eyes were on him now.

"What are you doing here, Sherlock? It isn't safe. You know that."

She stood up from her chair now, walking towards him.

No chance of her making him a new coffee then.

She had casually ignored the remark.

He noticed her eyes were looking over his shoulder.

He almost laughed.

Sometimes he thought she didn't know him at all.

"Oh its fine, Molly. It's safe now. I've seen John. He knows I'm alive. I don't care who else figures out I'm alive now. The whole world can know."

He smiled.

Molly let out a sigh of relief.

She then smiled at him.

"What did you say about that coffee again?"

Perhaps she would make him a mug after all.

They both left the morgue.

Molly's paperwork completely forgotten about.

* * *

><p>The two were now sitting in one of the labs.<p>

Both held coffee in their hands.

Sherlock was sipping on his in delight.

Not even Mrs Hudson's coffee could beat Molly's.

He wouldn't tell her that though.

He saw no reason why he should.

"So, how did John take it?" She asked, leaning back in to the chair she was sitting on.

"Fine; he knew. Apparently someone had been giving off hints." His eyes narrowed on to her with a playful edge to them.

Molly blushed and looked away, embarrassed.

She didn't seem to have noticed the playfulness.

"I'm sorry… I-I cou… didn't… I couldn't leave him like he was… h-he needed… I-I just thought–"

Sherlock cut her off.

"I never even figured it out, Molly. All the times we met up over the last four years… I never once caught on to the fact you was hiding this from me. I'm… I'm impressed, Molly."

Molly's eyes snapped to his.

"Impressed?"

"Yes."

She bit her lip, blushing scarlet and looking away, down at the table.

He said nothing more on the subject.

He stayed quiet for a few minutes.

They both sat there drinking their coffee.

He was debating on telling her the news John had presented him with.

She was debating on asking him out.

Perhaps he would say yes.

He thought she was _impressive_ after all.

That would mean she could get out of her date tonight.

She didn't get the chance to as she heard Sherlock blurt out.

"John's wife is with child."

Molly's eyes darted to his, trying to read the emotions there.

All she saw was… _nothing_.

"Oh really?"

A bright smile lit her lips up.

"I'll have to give Mary a ring later and congratulate them both."

Sherlock frowned.

Maybe that was the wrong thing to say.

"Why are you frowning, Sherlock?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

He didn't dignify her question with an answer.

"Before I left the house, he told me they want me to be Godfather to… _it_."

Molly nearly burst in to a fit of hysterics.

In her head, she could picture Sherlock with a baby in his arms and sick covering that incredibly sexy purple shirt of his.

It was a funny image.

A funny image that was not Sherlock at all.

Sherlock and children didn't mix.

"What's wrong with that?"

She knew there was plenty wrong with that.

Once again, Molly wasn't dignified with a reply.

"You know, he won't even move back in to Baker Street now? He says he'll still assist on cases but he will not be living with me. How ridiculous is that? It's his home, Molly. It's where he lives; it's where we live. I'm back now. It can go back to the way it was before."

So that was what this was about.

Sherlock was upset John had moved on.

She sighed.

Molly's hand was reaching over to Sherlock's and then she remembered who she was with.

She pulled her hand back and refrained from meeting his eyes.

She knew that he'd noticed the movement.

Of course he had, he was Sherlock Holmes.

He noticed _everything_.

She fiddled with the coffee cup's rim.

"Sherlock, John's married now. Unless you're prepared to have Mary living with you, too, you aren't going to be having him as your flatmate now. It's been four years, Sherlock. Everything's changed. You couldn't expect the world not to move on."

Her eyes went to his.

He was staring at her intensely.

"You haven't moved on."

Molly's breathing hitched.

She looked away.

"Well… that's true… but... I knew you were alive." She murmured.

She looked back up again.

He ignored what she said and continued on.

"What do we really know about this Mary Morstan?"

"…It's Watson now, Sherlock."

Sherlock ignored her, again.

He was stood up now, pacing back and forth in the lab.

"John really didn't think this through. He knows nothing about her. They've barely been together for five minutes and he has given everything he had up and given it all to her. To be quite honest with you, Molly, I do not trust this woman at all. She's after something from, John. I'm going to find out what it is."

Molly smiled slightly as she watched him.

The world had once seen this man before her as someone who had no heart, but right now, as she looked at him pacing back and forth, all she saw was a man who had too much of heart when it came down to those he loved.

She stood up and walked towards him.

A lot had changed between them over the past four years.

She was still timid around him from time to time, but now, now she wasn't as scared to stand up to him.

She could talk to him now, state her opinion, and make him see things differently.

She could make him laugh.

He wasn't so guarded around her anymore.

In all, over the past four years, the two of them had become friends – good friends at that.

Molly reached out and gripped on to one of Sherlock's hands.

She forced him to stop pacing and to look at her.

She now held both his hands in hers, her thumbs caressing his skin sweetly.

He didn't pull away.

Usually when she touched him, he yelled at her and moved away.

He really must be upset over this.

"Sherlock," she began in the softest voice she could muster, "Mary and John have been together for three years. John didn't rush this; he knew what he was doing – he still knows what he's doing. He knows Mary. He loves Mary. Mary loves him. Mary's good for him. I never told you this, and John doesn't know I know this. Mary told me that they met on a rooftop, similar to Bart's. John was going to jump. He wanted to know what it was like… he wanted to be with you. Mary stopped him. She convinced him to get off that ledge and take her to dinner instead. Mary saved John, Sherlock. All she wants to do is love him and in return be given the same."

Sherlock was frozen.

How had he not known any of this?

When did Molly become so good at concealing things?

He stared down at the mousy hair coloured pathologist in amazement and shock.

He was amazed at the woman she is.

He'd _never _realised.

He was shocked at the revelation of how hard John had taken his 'death'.

He'd _never _realised how much John cared about him.

He had always seen their relationship one sided.

He never took in to consideration that John cared for him, too.

When Sherlock didn't speak, Molly continued on her speech while her thumbs swept over the skin of his hands, repeatedly.

"Just because John's married and has a family now doesn't mean he's going to stop being your best friend, it doesn't mean he isn't going to be there for you anymore. He might not be there quite as much, but he's not going to forget you and leave you behind. Mary's not going to stop that either. She knows everything about your friendship and even though she hasn't experienced it first-hand that doesn't mean she doesn't understand it."

Molly paused for a moment.

She wanted to make sure everything she was saying was sinking in for Sherlock.

He didn't move.

He didn't even look like he was really looking at her.

She smiled softly and went on.

"I know the news of them being pregnant must be shocking but, Sherlock, don't push John away because of it. He wants you in his child's life as such an important figure, that's an honour, Sherlock. I wouldn't throw that away if I were you. It may not be your area of… _expertise _but you can learn. Who knows you might even like it! You've no idea of what an honour you are being given here. So much trust is being thrust upon you, Sherlock…" Molly sighed slightly.

She wasn't sure if she was conveying her point clearly.

"All I'm trying to say to you, Sherlock, is that there is more to life than just a case. Yeah, I get that you think things like this are mundane and you're right, they can be. It all depends on what _you _make of it. Just because you deem the way everyone else handles situations like this boring doesn't mean the way you handle it has to be boring, too."

She dropped his hands with a small smile.

She moved back to the table where her coffee sat.

"I have to go now. I really need to get my paperwork finished – date." She smiled, sadly, towards him.

"Goodbye, Molly." He nodded at her as she left the room.

He picked up, his now cold, coffee and downed the drink.

He left St. Bart's, his thoughts plagued with Molly's words.

* * *

><p>Those words were what caused Sherlock to now be standing outside of the Watson's home two days later.<p>

He stared at the door for a few minutes.

If he didn't knock, and just got a cab back to 221b, he was sure he would continue to be tortured by Molly's speech.

He sighed.

She was so _irritating_ sometimes.

He raised his hand and tapped the knocker against the wood, twice.

Mere moments later, John Watson opened the door.

A surprised "Sherlock" emitted from his lips.

"John." Sherlock nodded, curtly, at his friend.

"What are you doing here?"

Sherlock jutted his jaw out and looked at the ground.

How could he start this off?

This was so… _hard_… and frankly, quite embarrassing.

He rarely did this.

He could count on one hand the amount of times he had done this and he still had fingers to spare!

Once again, he sighed.

He might as well get it over with bluntly.

He looked up at John.

"About the other day… I'm… well… I came here to tell you that I'm sorry, John…"

John's eyes widened, his mouth hung agape.

Sherlock was about to continue on but John held his hand up.

"Say no more. I don't think I need to hear anymore. You're forgiven. _Jesus_." He murmured the last bit to himself and stepped aside for Sherlock to come in.

Picking up on the subtle gesture, Sherlock stepped inside the house he had vacated so abruptly the other day.

That had been relatively easy.

Who would have thought?

As John was shutting the door, he spoke incredulously to Sherlock.

"Did you really just say you're sorry?"

* * *

><p><strong>Authors Note: <strong>I didn't like this chapter when I began writing it… but I really like it now. I hope you like it also. Let me know? There's only one more chapter left before the real story kicks in. Has anyone figured out what the story is actually going to be about yet? Tell me your theories.

On that note, I'm going to tell you what helped inspire my title. The song _'I'm Gonna Love You Through It' _by Martina McBride. The story is somewhat inspired by it but not a lot. Just the relationship between the husband and wife is what I'm aiming to create in this.

Thank-you for reading!

Petal.


	3. Least It's Not Hermione

**Take This Hand, We Can Do It.**

**Authors Note: **Hey y'll! I hope you are all doing good and had a lovely Valentine's Day yesterday. I spent mine in London with a friend in a lovely little place called 'Death Trap'. Hence there being no update yesterday. I'm sorry about that. My plans were cancelled today and so here I am with the final chapter before we see where this story is really going. Your reviews are amazing; I love reading them and I hope I reply to everyone – forgive me if I don't. Enough chatter on with the chapter. ;)  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>Sherlock does not belong to me.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Three: Least It's Not Hermione.<strong>

After Sherlock had apologised to John that day, he began to accept everything.

He accepted that John wasn't coming back.

He accepted that John was married.

He accepted that John was having a family.

He even accepted that he was going to be _something _to the child.

Sherlock had begun to read books on the subject.

They could be found all over the place at 221b.

He often accompanied Mary and John on outings, when he wasn't on a case, to purchase items for the unborn baby.

Once, he'd even gone alone with Mary to pick out a buggy.

It had been an… _experience _which Mary had handled well.

John was surprised she had come back that day.

He thought she would have run off, not being able to take anymore of Sherlock.

After that day, it seemed Mary had gained Sherlock's respect.

* * *

><p>When it came to the twenty week scan, Sherlock had insisted on coming with the couple.<p>

After much debating, on John's side, it was agreed that Sherlock would attend with them.

They sat in the small waiting room of the surgery; Sherlock was anxiously drumming his fingers on the arm rest of the chair he was occupying.

"Ugh, this is ridiculous; how can people just… sit here!" Sherlock asked, incredulous.

John sighed in frustration at his friend.

Mary stifled a giggle.

A woman, sitting across from Sherlock, glared at him over the top of the pregnancy magazine she was reading.

"Most people have patience, Sherlock."

Sherlock groaned and threw his head back to the wall.

"It's so mind numbing. There are only so many times you can observe someone."

"Read a magazine."

"Trash."

"Look at your phone."

"And what exactly would that accomplish?"

"Getting you to shut up for a few seconds; I'd appreciate the quiet."

Before Sherlock could reply, a doctor came out, calling Mary's name.

Sherlock stood up with a dramatic sigh.

"Finally!"

Mary laughed at that, standing up and making her way towards the room with the two men following behind her.

"And who is this?" The doctor asked Mary.

"This is the Godfather; he demanded his presence be allowed today."

The doctor laughed.

Sherlock glared.

"Congratulations, Mr…"

"Holmes."

The doctor smiled and nodded towards the chair for Mary to lie on.

Sherlock watched in fascination as the gel was smoothed over Mary's, now exposed, stomach.

"So, how is everything? Have you been having any problems, or anything you're just worried about?"

The doctor looked to both Mary and John; the couple shook their heads.

"Most of the pregnancy books I have read state that when pregnant you have cravings and yet Mary seems to have none. Is this quite normal? Everything about her is healthy, I see that, but is it normal?" Sherlock piped in.

John and Mary's head snapped to Sherlock.

John groaned.

Mary smiled.

The doctor laughed and looked towards Sherlock.

"It's perfectly normal. Every woman is different. Many don't experience cravings and if they do some are very little and rare."

The doctor's head turned back to the monitor which was now showing a fuzzy, black and white image of what Sherlock assumed to be the baby.

He moved in closer to look, studying the image with utter fascination.

His eyes slipped to Mary's stomach and back up to the image; it was quite hard to believe that that fuzzy picture on the screen was resting in her body.

"So, as you know around the twentieth week you should be able to tell what the sex of the baby is. Would you care to know?"

Sherlock's eyes studied the screen in delight.

He was completely oblivious to everyone else in the room.

That barely decipherable image was a human being!

That barely decipherable image was his God child!

"Oh no, we really want–"

John was cut off by Sherlock's sudden outburst.

"My God, am I right in believing that it's a girl? Judging by… _that_!" He exclaimed, pointing a finger at the screen.

The doctor stared up at Sherlock in wonder.

"SHERLOCK!" John yelled, turning to glare at his friend.

"Did you not just hear what I said?"

"Hm?"

Sherlock's eyes were still glued to the scan screen.

"I'm amazed you could tell. You're not a doctor are you?"

Sherlock shook his head, barely registering the question.

"I'm a doctor and I couldn't even tell." John huffed.

"I can't believe you, Sherlock. This was why I didn't want you to come!"

Sherlock's eyes snapped to John and Mary.

John looked angry.

Mary looked… _sad_.

He didn't understand.

Shouldn't they be happy?

"What?"

"You bastard! We didn't want to know the sex. We wanted a surprise!"

John's eyes narrowed further on to Sherlock.

He almost flinched… only _almost _though.

"Leave!" John demanded.

"Oh John, that's a little–"

John cut Sherlock off and pointed his finger to the door.

"I said leave!"

Sherlock sighed, rolled his eyes and swept out of the door.

"John that was a little harsh, don't you think?"

John looked to Mary and growled.

"I don't care. He can be such an insufferable arse."

Their doctor looked between them; taking in the scene he had just witnessed and smiled.

"He'll make a fantastic Godfather though."

The expecting parents looked towards their doctor.

"We know." Mary stated before taking a tissue and beginning to rid herself off the gel on her stomach.

John ignored Sherlock for the rest of that week.

* * *

><p>Mary was now in her eighth month of pregnancy and found Sherlock was often around her at the house now.<p>

He'd even stopped taking case; he didn't want to miss the child's birth.

They had had plenty of arguments over whether or not Sherlock would be in the room during the birth.

Mary was still on the affirmed no.

Sherlock still believed the answer was yes.

Today, however, Sherlock was nowhere in sight around John's and her house; he was at St. Bart's with his eye, most likely, lodged against a microscope.

"I presume it was a terrible lunch date." Sherlock stated to Molly Hooper as she stepped through the lab door.

She jumped at his voice.

Even after all this time, he still managed to startle her.

"On the contrary actually."

That piqued his attention; his head lifted from the culture he was studying.

"Then why are you… _upset_?"

He wasn't quite sure if that was the correct term for what he was reading in Molly's body language.

"I'm not upset. I'm just a little unsure."

"Why?"

His head had now slipped back to the culture; the conversation was already beginning to bore him.

He detested talking to Molly about her dates.

He thought this one might have been a little more interesting.

It appeared not.

"He seems perfect."

Sherlock scoffed.

Molly rolled her eyes and ignored him.

"I just don't know if I can believe him. No one can be perfect, every person has flaws. Yet I've been dating him for nearly ten months now and I've seen none." She sighed.

"His names Toby, Molly."

"How's that a flaw?"

"Last time I checked, you have a cat with that exact name."

Molly was standing by the side of the table he was using, her elbows leaning on it and her cheek resting in the palm of her hand.

"We can't exactly help that. I'm not going to not date him because he has the same name as my cat. He's a good guy."

"You don't like good guys."

"You're good."

They both stilled.

They usually tried to steer clear of this subject.

"I mean… I-I don-don't like you no more…" Molly got out in a rush, "but you are good and I liked you."

He ignored the first part.

"I'm not good."

"Yes, you are. You're like a superhero."

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Superhero's do not exist, Molly."

"You're close to being one."

He ignored that, too.

"You went out with Moriarty."

"It was only a couple of dates. I barely liked him."

"You liked him enough to go on a couple dates."

Molly went quiet then.

She stayed silent for a few moments before changing the subject.

"How are Mary and John doing with names?"

"Hopeless."

He stood up from the microscope and went to get a different slide he had prepared earlier.

Molly watched him.

"Why hopeless?"

He returned and changed the slides over.

"Isabella and Hermione are the newest two they like."

"As in Isabella Swan and Hermione Granger?"

Sherlock's eyes snapped to Molly's and narrowed on her in disgust.

"You know of them?"

"Who doesn't? Twilight and Harry Potter."

"I had never heard of either before Mary had told me."

Molly gawked at him in disbelief.

"You had never heard of Twilight and Harry Potter."

"That's what I just said, Molly."

"Unbelievable."

Sherlock didn't reply to her and Molly left.

* * *

><p>She returned half an hour later with her own cultures to analyse.<p>

The pair stayed silent for an hour and forty five minutes before Sherlock's phone sounded.

"Molly."

She looked up from her microscope.

"Yes?"

"My phone; it's in my pocket."

She rolled her eyes but stood up and moved towards him.

She took the phone from his pocket and opened the message up.

"It's from John."

_Mary. Labour. Bart's. –JW_

Sherlock's head shot up as Molly read the text out.

He snatched the phone from her hand and read it himself.

After the fifth time of reading it, he stood up and strode out of the lab and to Bart's maternity ward.

Molly stared after him for a few moments before following.

When she arrived the first thing she heard was a loud scream of: "I swear to _fucking _God Sherlock, if you come in here I will murder you in such a gruesome way they won't even be able to tell who you are!"

"Mary, we agreed I'd wit–"

"SHERLOCK!" John yelled, slamming the door on his friends face.

Sherlock stared at the door for a few moments.

Molly watched him with a crooked smile on her lips.

She then moved towards him and took him by the arm.

"Come and sit, Sherlock.

He said nothing and did as she commanded.

He was silent for at least fifteen minutes.

His head shot up at the most terrifying scream coming from the room Mary was in.

"I think I should go in there. It sounds like murder. They may need me."

Molly rolled her eyes.

"The only one who'll be murdered if you go in there is you. I wouldn't take Mary's threat lightly, Sherlock."

Sherlock stood from the chair in the waiting room and began to pace.

"Why is she screaming like that? All she has to do is push. There'll be some pain, of course, but not enough to require such a cry!" He exclaimed.

Molly glared at him.

"Have you ever had a child, Sherlock?"

"Of course not, you know th–"

Molly stopped him from talking anymore.

She stood up with him.

"Then I think you should shut up."

Sherlock stopped pacing, his eyes turned on to Molly.

"You've not had a child. You don't know what it feels like either."

"True. But one day, I will and you never will have to feel the pain while I will have to."

"You're going to have a child?"

The thought of it was puzzling.

Molly Hooper, a mother.

It seemed… _wrong. _

She was his pathologist.

She was his friend.

He couldn't quite imagine her as a mother.

Who was the father going to be?

_Toby_?

He shuddered at the thought.

The child would be very unlucky to have him as a father.

He didn't like the thought.

Why didn't he like the thought?

Why was he even thinking of this?

He groaned aloud, to himself.

This was ridiculous.

He blamed Mary and John for this.

He wouldn't even be thinking about this if it weren't for them.

He wouldn't even be thinking about this if they hadn't have proclaimed him the child's Godfather.

Ever since they had announced it to him, he had been rather 'in touch with his _emotions'_.

"Yes."

Sherlock stared at her for a few moments and then began to pace again, not answering her.

Molly sat down and watched him.

His behaviour was… _intriguing_.

* * *

><p>Molly and Sherlock stayed that way for another hour before John entered the waiting room, grinning like a fool.<p>

"It's a girl…"

"We knew that already, John." Sherlock stated in a bored tone.

"She was born at three, twenty four and weighs six pound, eight ounces."

The goofy grin was still sitting on his face.

"Have you named her yet?" Molly asked, excitedly.

John nodded his head.

Both Sherlock and Molly waited, anxiously, for the name.

"Elizabeth Jayne Watson."

"At least it's not Hermione."

John's eyes went to Sherlock's and he rolled his eyes.

* * *

><p><strong>Authors Note: <strong>Elizabeth Jayne Watson, y'll! Totally named her after Elizabeth Bennet. ;) Anyways, I'm not sure what was really going on in this chapter. I just wanted you to all see what Sherlock is like as a Godfather and of course, the birth of the child! So, let me know what you think?

Thanks!

Petal.


	4. The Fourth Month

**Take This Hand, We Can Do It.**

**Authors Note: **Oh my, I'm sorry this has taken me so long to write. I've been busy and every time I've gone to write it something has come up. I would have written this Sunday but something happened and it's got me in the worst mood ever. I'm finally starting to accept what's happened and so here I am. I finally know where this story is going; I haven't planned it yet but I actually have a whole idea now. I really hope you like it. OH! And someone actually got it right about what is going to happen. I won't tell you who, I don't want to spoil the update. So without further ado, here is chapter four.  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>No, I do not own Sherlock. I do own Elizabeth though.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Four: The Fourth Month. <strong>

John Watson could think of only one way to describe the person Sherlock Holmes became when around Elizabeth; he was father-like.

It was _endearing_.

It was by far the oddest sight John had ever seen.

John could quite clearly remember the first day Sherlock had held Elizabeth.

He wished he had photo evidence of it.

Sherlock hadn't held her much since then.

Elizabeth had just reached a month and a half in breathing.

Sherlock visited the Watson's every day, even when he was on a case.

John was currently off cases; he wanted family time.

Begrudgingly, Sherlock had agreed.

John assumed it was because he knew the detective had a weak spot for his daughter, whether he let it be known or not.

On this particular day though, John had caught Sherlock studying his daughter.

He had found it rather amusing.

"What are you doing?"

"Observing."

"Elizabeth?"

Sherlock gave no reply.

John rolled his eyes at his friends silence and went from another angle instead.

"Why are you _observing _her?"

"Babies are just like adults, they are easy to read but there's something so different about them. They give in to everything they want; they do not hold back. If they are hungry, they let it be known. If they are tired, they scream and cry until they fall asleep. If they want attention, they moan until they get it. It's all rather intriguing."

A smile was curled on John's lips as he listened to Sherlock.

"Have you never seen a baby before?"

"I've steered clear of them."

John nodded.

_Of course._

"I also believed they were a nuisance, I still do. Elizabeth is different though. She's not like every other baby."

John nearly laughed at that.

He certainly was like a father to her.

"Why's that?"

Sherlock's eyes snapped to his friends in a way that said '_keep up, John_!'

"What?" John asked, incredulous.

"It's like I can see her looking back at me."

"That's because she is looking back at you, Sherlock."

Sherlock sighed dramatically.

"No, John! It's as if I can see her really looking at me, observing me."

"I'm sure she's not figuring everything detail out about you, Sherlock."

"It's possible. She is partly your daughter and you aren't the most absentminded person I've ever met."

John rolled his eyes.

"I'll try to take that as a compliment."

Sherlock ignored him.

John watched him.

"Have you even held her?"

"Why would I want to hold her?"

A frown knitted its way across Sherlock's features.

"Because she's your goddaughter and that's what people do."

"I'm not most people, John."

"You are when it comes to Elizabeth."

Sherlock's eyes shot to John's and he glowered at him.

John held his hands up in surrender with a laugh.

"OK. OK. Sorry."

John moved to where Elizabeth laid on the floor, he bent down and picked her up while cooing at the little girl who was smiling up at him.

Sherlock watched John as he moved around the room, rocking the little baby.

Sherlock's eyes shifted to the clock, it was almost time for the little girl to sleep.

The dark, curly haired, consulting detective slowly moved to sit down in the chair he had claimed as his at the Watson's.

He shut his eyes and slowly began to slip in to his mind palace.

He was currently on a case.

He was currently on a case and having trouble figuring out where to go next.

He had come to the Watson's to try and clear his mind; he'd also missed Elizabeth.

He wouldn't admit that though.

Perhaps if he–

Sherlock was rocked out of his mind palace as he felt a warm, heavy buddle be thrust in to his arms.

His eyes slipped open and fell to the now sleeping Elizabeth in his arms.

"J–"He was cut short.

"Shush, Sherlock! Don't you dare wake, Elizabeth; she was easy to get off today. If you wake her she might not be so easy to get back."

"John, I'm busy!"

"Sherlock, quiet!" John whisper-cried.

Sherlock glared at him.

"I'm busy."

"You're at my house. If you were busy you should be at Baker Street."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed further.

John ignored him, smiled and left the room.

Sherlock looked down at the sleeping baby in his arms.

She was heavy.

His arm was already hurting.

He shifted slowly and softly, being careful as to not wake her.

Sherlock's head tilted to the side, he began to observe the little one again.

She was a truly magnificent being, even in her sleep.

One of his fingers reached out and swept over her cheek in a slow, gentle movement.

He _smiled_.

He leant back in to the chair, getting comfortable with her there before slipping back in to his mind palace to the thoughts John had interrupted.

From the doorway, John stood watching his best friend.

The thought that crossed his mind was one he would have never believed five years ago: _Sherlock Holmes would make a wonderful father_.

He laughed to himself.

Sherlock didn't even know it.

John shook his head and made his way to the kitchen to find Mary.

* * *

><p>Elizabeth Watson was now three months old.<p>

Today was her christening.

Mary and John had thought it was only right for both of their best friends to take on the role of godparents.

Mary had chosen a woman called Harley Smith.

John, of course, had chosen Sherlock.

The two godparents were completely opposite of one another.

Harley was very hands-on.

Sherlock was rather a sit-and-observe kind.

Harley enjoyed taking Elizabeth out for strolls.

Sherlock preferred to sit in 221b, showing Elizabeth interesting things from cases and experiments.

Mary had once caught him showing Elizabeth a human heart.

After John had heard about that, he had almost murdered Sherlock and told him he wouldn't be able to have Elizabeth round if there were any organs or body parts in the flat.

It was safe to say that after that day, Sherlock had made sure that whenever Elizabeth was around there were no organs or body parts around, too.

Harley was always the first to volunteer to babysit.

Sherlock only agreed if there was literally nobody else.

Harley spoiled Elizabeth rotten with presents.

Sherlock spoiled Elizabeth rotten with secret smiles.

John knew Sherlock hadn't realised that anyone had seen him all those times; John was sure he hadn't seen Sherlock smile so much in all the time that he had known him as much as he had since Elizabeth was born.

Elizabeth Watson brought the tender, human side out in Sherlock.

Elizabeth Watson was truly an extraordinary little girl.

* * *

><p>The christening ceremony had gone splendidly.<p>

John had been amazed with Sherlock.

He hadn't quite expected Sherlock to take it seriously.

But throughout Sherlock had listened intensely to every word that had been spoken.

He performed his part to perfection, of course.

John was thankful.

Sherlock was now officially Elizabeth's godfather.

Harley was now officially Elizabeth's godmother.

It gave him a sense of _clam_.

It gave him a sense of _peace_.

Now, no matter what happened to him and Mary, he knew their daughter would be taken care of and not thrown in to a care home.

He was sure she would rot away in one.

So many children did.

He didn't want that future for his daughter.

He wanted to be sure that his daughter's future would be the best she could possibly have, even if he wasn't there to witness it or help bring it upon her.

Currently, they were at the christening reception.

John was quite honestly entertained with how Sherlock was handling everything.

The expression on his face was one of intense frustration as he listened to John's sister, who was far too drunk, rattling on about her latest ex.

John's interest piqued as Molly Hooper came over and stole Sherlock away.

She dragged him to the dance floor.

Sherlock seemed relieved.

Sherlock seemed relieved and was now dancing with Molly Hooper.

John found himself shocked at the scene before him.

Sherlock was relieved while dancing.

Dancing with Molly Hooper of all people!

He laughed to himself.

So much had changed.

He still didn't quite understand the friendship between the detective and the pathologist.

He approved, nevertheless.

It was much better than the relationship they had shared five years ago.

That had been awful and so hard for John to witness without flinching.

Sherlock had lived up to his 'heartless bastard' status with the way he had treated Molly.

John smiled, to himself.

He much appreciated the scene before him now.

Mary slipped up behind her husband and wrapped her arms around his waist.

"I can't decide whether you're checking Sherlock or Molly out."

John full on laughed.

"Sherlock; you know you're my cover up and I'm really in love with my former roommate."

Mary giggled, leaning her chin on to his shoulder.

"They make a cute couple."

John nodded his head in agreement.

"Shame Sherlock doesn't do relationships."

"I wouldn't say he doesn't do relationships," John started, "it's more like he doesn't understand them. He's not quite good at observing what's in front of him when it's to do with feelings; as Lestrade would say: it's not his division."

Mary let out an 'hmm.'

"Where's Elizabeth?"

"With Harley."

John rolled his eyes.

"I should have guessed."

"She dotes on her."

"So does Sherlock."

"Sherlock's more reserved. It's like you said, he isn't good with feelings."

John nodded.

He glanced towards the dance floor where Sherlock was twirling round a laughing Molly.

_Odd_.

He then turned his wife, pushed her to the wall and kissed her sweetly.

* * *

><p>That was a month ago now.<p>

Elizabeth was four months old.

She was currently in the living room of 221b.

Sherlock was sitting, knees to his chin, palms pressed together, in his chair.

Molly was currently in the kitchen, preparing lunch for Elizabeth and Sherlock.

Mary and John were on their way to the airport to see Harley off.

She was going on a year trip around Australia.

No one had been available to babysit Elizabeth and so Sherlock, begrudging, agreed.

He had then enlisted Molly's help, claiming he couldn't get the little girl to stop screaming after her parents had left.

Molly had instantly come – she had been out with her boyfriend.

They weren't just seeing one another anymore; it was getting serious.

She had entered the flat and found Sherlock glaring at his goddaughter.

"Oh, thank heavens, Molly! Sort her out!"

Molly had rolled her eyes and picked the little girl up.

Her nappy had needed changing.

Sherlock wrinkled his nose as Molly had informed him.

"And what do you expect me to do about that?" Sherlock had raised an eyebrow.

"Change her nappy." Molly stated.

Sherlock had looked at her in a dumbfounded manner.

Molly had to contain her laughter.

It was such an odd look to see on the man before her.

"I'll do it."

Sherlock let out a sigh of relief and Molly giggled before grabbing the supplies and ridding the baby of her problem.

Once done, she had placed Elizabeth back in the playpen, set up, and turned to Sherlock.

"I'll be going then."

"Stay."

Molly raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"I don't know how long they are going to be gone. I don't know much about looking after her… I've only had her alone for an hour at the most before. I've never had a problem with her before, not like today."

Molly had simply nodded and sat down in the chair that had previously been John's.

When Elizabeth had begun to cry later that day, Molly had discovered she was hungry.

With the mention of food, Sherlock realised it had been at least three days since his last proper meal and had demanded food, also.

That was how Molly found herself in 221b's kitchen, preparing the separate meals.

While she was setting out the plates for the food to go on, the phone begun to ring.

"Molly, phone."

"Sherlock, I'm busy."

"It's by my skull."

"Sherlock!"

Molly got no answer from Sherlock.

He didn't move.

She sighed.

She moved towards the phone and picked it up, all the while glaring at the man in that incredibly sexy purple shirt.

"Hello?"

"Hello, can I speak to a Mr Sherlock Holmes, please?"

"I'm sorry. He can't come to the phone right now. Can I take a message?"

"It's rather urgent."

Molly's eyebrows pulled together.

"May I ask what it's about?"

"I have some unfortunate news about a Dr. John Watson."

Molly paled.

She went still.

Her eyes slipped over to Sherlock.

He was studying her, clearly intrigued by the changes in her.

She gulped.

Sherlock frowned and reached his hand out to take the phone.

Molly handed it to him.

"This is Sherlock Holmes."

"Hello, Mr Holmes, my names Dr. Elijah Reid from St. Thomas's hospital."

"I don't care who you are; get to the point." Sherlock interrupted, eyebrows knitting together.

"Right. Well, uh– I'm calling to inform you that there has been an accident–"

"What kind of accident?" Sherlock asked, harshly.

"A car accident," the doctor informed in a gentle voice.

Sherlock said nothing.

He looked almost looked... _lifeless_.

"There were three occupants in the car, Dr. John Watson, Mary Watson, and Harley Smith. A lorry lost control on the motorway and flipped over, hitting their car; they passed on impact. I'm sorry, Mr Holmes. I'm so sorry…" Dr Reid trailed off.

Sherlock didn't reply.

His finger hit the off button; the phone clattered to the floor of 221b.

It sounded like a gunshot had gone off; Mrs Hudson would be calling up the stairs in a few moments inquiring, surely.

Molly's suspicions were confirmed.

John was _dead_.

Mary was _dead_.

Harley was _dead_.

She felt numb.

Tears were beginning to prickle in the corner of her eyes.

She watched Sherlock.

He looked _dead_ himself.

She wondered if he was for a moment.

That nearly broke her heart.

She was sure he wasn't though.

There was still something alive in him.

She could tell.

She could tell because she saw the direction his eyes fell.

He was staring at the _playpen_.

He was staring at Elizabeth Jayne Watson, a now _orphaned_ four month old baby girl.

* * *

><p><strong>Authors Note: <strong>There it is… I'm so sorry the update I had to give you was a depressing one. I tried to balance it with cute scenes. I like it. I hope you do, too. Please let me know? I hope I haven't lost too many readers. You are all amazing! I'll try to update soon but I'm a little busy with Sixthform and friends this week. I love you all.

Thank-you for reading!

Petal.


	5. The Cliché

**Take This Hand, We Can Do It.**

**Authors Note:** I am so sorry for this disgustingly late update. I've been so busy with school and just life in general. The moments I've had free I've just wanted to relax and not go in to a world of angst. However, I'm here now and I plan on writing up a few chapters today as I have nothing else to do. I've hurt my foot, can't walk on it properly and so I've no choice but to rest it. Anyways, please forgive my lateness and how depressing the next few chapters are going to be but I need to do it. This whole story is going to be quite depressing really but I want to write it. So without further ado, I give you chapter five.  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>I do not own Sherlock in anyway or form.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Five: The Cliché.<strong>

_Pitta patter_; the sound echoed all around the car as it moved.

It was certainly the right atmosphere for the occasion that was taking place today.

The sky was an awfully dark grey and the falling droplets of rain were light and soft, almost like the tears people were trying to keep concealed.

Everyone was dress in black; Molly found it rather odd that she hadn't even see a while dress shirt in sight… it was truly all black.

She was sat in the first car, following the two hearses, in the middle of Sherlock Holmes and a car seat where baby Elizabeth was sleeping peacefully.

Molly was worried, extremely worried.

Sherlock hadn't spoken a word since the day the Watson's had died.

He'd altogether stopped showing any sign of emotion.

He was completely blank all the time.

Today was no different as he stared out the window of the car, she wasn't sure if he was watching the rain cascade down the glass or simply seeing nothing.

Molly had been staying at 221b since the day they had received the phone call.

Social services had been in touch but had asked if it would be OK for Elizabeth to stay in their care for a couple of weeks; they weren't a priority case and they had red flagged ones to deal with at the moment.

Molly had agreed with that.

She knew that, that would probably have made Sherlock snap completely if they tried to take Elizabeth from him.

He hadn't done much too actually help look after Elizabeth in the past week but Molly understood.

She preferred being busy right now.

She may not have been close, close to the couple but they had been her friends and she didn't want time to dwell on everything right now.

Even though Sherlock barely moved and didn't express a single emotion or thought, she had seen him holding Elizabeth.

She remembered it on the Wednesday that had just passed.

* * *

><p>Molly was in the kitchen of 221b, preparing Elizabeth, Sherlock and herself lunch.<p>

She didn't expect Sherlock to eat it, he hadn't eaten anything since that _day _yet, but it brought her comfort to know that he had the opportunity to.

Elizabeth was in the living room with Sherlock.

Molly knew that, even though he didn't look like he was in this world, he was watching her and wouldn't let anything happen to her.

She had begun army crawling this week.

It was a cute sight and it was the only time Molly had actually smiled since the phone call.

She was doing it right now.

She could hear the little sniper moving along the floor.

She heard the noise still and Elizabeth moan slightly.

Molly took no notice.

Elizabeth often did things like this, she had realised.

It was when the moans and shuffling stopped altogether that she began to worry.

She turned around from what she was doing and was greeted with such an adorable picture that it brought out the second smile in her.

Sherlock was sitting in his chair in an entirely different position now.

In his arms was the little girl who he was looking at fondly and stroking her cheek sweetly with one of his fingers.

It was such a strange sight to lay eyes on.

She certainly wouldn't have pictured Sherlock Holmes as a fatherly type but here he was in front of her, looking completely at ease.

She vaguely remembered John telling her the story of when Sherlock first held Elizabeth.

She sighed.

Oh, how she missed John.

Before she turned around to get back to making lunch, she could have sworn she saw the glistening of tears in Sherlock's eyes as he stared down at Elizabeth.

* * *

><p>The car came to a stop outside the gates of the cemetery.<p>

Molly felt her stomach tighten.

This was _it_.

This was the place John and Mary Watson were going to be put to peace.

They were far too _young_.

Her eyes fell to their sleeping daughter.

It just wasn't right.

They'd never get to watch her grow up; they'd never get the chance to be a proper family with her.

It brought out many emotions in Molly, emotions she couldn't comprehend or describe; none of the emotions seemed to fit together and yet there they were, beating inside of her.

Molly looked back to Sherlock and gulped, he seemed a little stiffer but other than that he hadn't moved.

As the gates opened up and the car began to roll forward, the hearses had taken a different entrance; Molly took Sherlock's hand in hers and gave it a gentle squeeze.

She knew it was cliché but she just wanted him to know that she was there for him.

She expected him to pull away and reject her but instead she felt a slight squeeze back from his own fingers.

What surprised her even more was that he was now looking at her, looking in to her eyes dead on.

His own still seemed so empty but he was looking at her and that meant _something_.

It wasn't much.

But she'd take it.

It meant that eventually, perhaps, he _would_ come back.

It meant that he _wanted_ to come back.

It meant that he wanted her _help_ in getting back.

That was what the movement had meant.

He wasn't there right now but he _accepted_ her cliché with open arms.

Their hands soon parted and each stepped out of the car.

Sherlock stood motionless.

Molly noticed that his eyes were on the hearse where John Watson's body laid in a beautifully decorated coffin.

As Molly passed him, she brushed his arm in a way of affirming her offered cliché.

From the other side of the car, Molly pulled the now awake Elizabeth from her seat.

She held the baby girl tightly to her and kissed the top of her head gently.

The two coffins were now sitting on the shoulders of eight men, one of those men being Lestrade, and they were getting ready to proceed in to the church.

Molly moved towards Sherlock, who when asked if he wanted to carry John's coffin had shook his head in a 'no.'

The brunette looked up at the man she now proudly called her friend, and took his hand in hers again.

"Are you ready?" She whispered, Elizabeth resting on her hip.

"I'm ready, Molly. Can you give me Elizabeth, please?"

Molly hadn't expected a verbal answer, perhaps a nod but certainly not words.

She obliged him silently, letting go of his hand in order to pass the baby over.

He took Elizabeth with a small smile on his lips and, as Molly had done, kissed her head.

He let the little girl rest upon his hip in the same manner she had been on Molly's, and to the pathologist's surprise, he took her hand in his own once more.

"Yes, I'm ready." He whispered and began to move forward.

Molly sensed his words had a completely different meaning to the question she had asked but she thought it was something good and so she simply went with him.

She now understood why Sherlock hadn't wanted to carry John's coffin, he had a bigger task at hand in the form of flesh and blood and she was currently snuggling in to Sherlock's side, falling back to sleep.

Sherlock hadn't helped his friend get to his final resting place because instead he was going to do the one thing his friend couldn't but needed to do and that was bring up his daughter.

Molly squeezed Sherlock's hand once again, to show her understanding and Sherlock squeezed back to show her he was grateful.

Grateful for what?

Molly didn't quite know.

There were many things he could be grateful to her for right now.

But she wasn't going to question it.

She was just going to accept it.

Once everyone was settled in their seats and the coffins were in their correct positions the doors closed and the service began.

* * *

><p>The service was beautiful and went off without a hitch and as they watched the coffins be gently laid to the ground, they all knew that nothing would ever be the same again.<p>

Everyone who was at the funeral for the Watson's that day all looked towards Sherlock, Molly and Elizabeth and they just… _knew_.

Knew what?

They knew that the three of them were in for the ride of their lives and they could only hope that they would make it out alive.

It was extremely hard to imagine Sherlock Holmes as a father but to anyone who was there that day; they could see he'd make a pretty terrific one.

Once the coffins were six feet down, Sherlock and Molly bent down to pick up some dirt and threw it down on to the coffins, saying their final goodbyes to their dear friends.

Mrs Hudson let out a loud sob when she saw the pair do this.

She had been rather quiet the entire service but even Molly knew she wouldn't be able to keep it in forever.

Molly moved towards the housekeeper and wrapped her in her arms, holding her tight.

It would be OK eventually.

Time would pass.

They aching would become bearable.

But there would always be that hole, that hole where John and Mary were supposed to be.

After what seemed like forever, Molly pulled away from Mrs Hudson.

Mrs Hudson bent down and threw the last piece of dirt on to both of the Watson's coffins before turning towards Sherlock and Molly.

"I'm going to stay with my sister for a few days now, as you know, so I'll see you when I get back. It'll be alright. Give me a ring to let me know how everyone's doing, yeah, Molly?"

Molly nodded her head and squeezed the elderly ladies hand.

"Of course."

Mrs Hudson moved towards Sherlock and Elizabeth and hugged the pair, tightly.

"You make sure he gets some food and water in him, will you, Molly?"

Molly moved towards Sherlock and took his hand again.

"Of course I will, Mrs Hudson. Have a nice time." She whispered.

Sherlock and Molly watched Mrs Hudson walk away.

Molly turned her head to look up at Sherlock.

"Are you really ready, Sherlock?" She asked now that no one was around.

"Yes."

His eyes fell to her.

"Then I guess we should go."

Sherlock said nothing but began to lead her back to their car.

There was no reception after the funeral.

While planning everything, Molly had remembered how both John and Mary hated the idea of such a thing. They preferred the idea of people mourning them in their own way after the burial takes place. So, that was what had happened.

Molly and Sherlock were going to go back to the flat now and spend a typical night together in the way John and Mary would have.

Play with Elizabeth. Watch TV with Elizabeth. Cook dinner. Eat Dinner. Play with Elizabeth again. Get Elizabeth ready for bed. Put Elizabeth to sleep. Get ready for bed themselves. Sit on the sofa together and watch some truly crap TV. Fall asleep on the sofa for an hour. Wake up and complain about it. Go to bed.

They knew the routine and they were going to honour it one more time.

It was their way of saying a proper goodbye to their friends.

Tomorrow they would wake up and everything would be different.

They would feel what it's truly like to live without John and Mary Watson.

They will have to take on the responsibility of sorting out everything to do with the husband and wife; the house, their finances, their belongings, and of course,

Elizabeth.

* * *

><p><strong>Authors Note: <strong>YAY! Chapter five is done! It's a lot shorter than the normal amount I write in length but it has the usual amount of words written so I don't mind. Let me know what you think? I actually really like this depressing chapter. Expect another chapter sometime this weekend I hope. I make no promises though.

Reviews are greatly appreciated and do help me write! So, inspire me. ;)

Thanks for reading.

Petal.


	6. Goodnight and Goodbye

**Take This Hand, We Can Do It.**

**Authors Note: **Hey there! Your reviews, as usual, are amazing to read and so inspiring. This chapter is being written earlier than I thought it would be and I'm really hoping it turns out alright. It's not much more than a filler chapter with a small bit of plot development. It's just something that keeps bugging me to write since the last chapter. I don't believe I gave Molly's boyfriend a name but if I did I will gladly change it back but for now, it shall be what I write in this. So, here's chapter six!  
><strong>Update: <strong>Thanks to _racheyy _for letting me know that I had previously named Molly's boyfriend. There shouldn't be any 'Gary's' in here now but if there is let me know! Thank-you so much!  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>Sherlock is not mine.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Six: Goodnight and Goodbye.<strong>

With Elizabeth sleeping once again, Sherlock shut the door to 221b, Baker Street.

To the floor he let the baby bag Molly had given him fall; it made a soft thud as it hit the wooden planks below.

He watched as Molly shrugged off her jacket and let her hair down from the neat ponytail she had styled it in for the funeral.

She turned to him and held her hands out for Elizabeth.

"I'll put her to bed, you sit down."

It didn't take much of a fight as he let Molly take Elizabeth from his arms and wander off in to John's old room where a makeshift crib was set up.

Sherlock made his way to his chair and threw himself down in it, not even bothering to remove his rain sodden coat.

He looked ridiculous.

Even still though, when Molly came out of the room, baby tucked in, she still believed him to be the most handsome man she'd ever laid her eyes upon.

Molly moved to one of the other seats in the living room, making sure to leave John's old chair alone.

She turned on the baby monitor and sat down with a sigh.

The day was finally beginning to take its toll on her.

She wanted to sleep.

"When she wakes up, we'll begin our… _thing_."

Sherlock simply nodded, staring at nothing.

"Until then I'll make us a cuppa."

"Coffee." Sherlock corrected.

"Coffee for you, tea for me."

He spoke nothing again.

Molly stood from the seat and made her way in to the kitchen.

The young woman soon returned with two steaming mugs of opposite coloured liquids: one rich in black, a black she felt you could lose yourself in, and the other filled to the brim with a creamy paleness, a creaminess that she felt was so sweet you could taste it on your tongue with a single glance.

She handed the one full of ebony liquid to Sherlock and kept the cream-like one for herself.

She flipped off her shoes and snuggled in to her seat again, closing her eyes.

It was to be a long night of doing something that wasn't them but just felt so right in the current circumstances.

A little bit of shut eye wouldn't hurt either of them; the baby monitor would be loud enough to wake them if Elizabeth needed them.

Molly opened her eyes to look at Sherlock.

She smiled.

The world's one and only consulting detective looked incredibly ridiculous right now.

The overly tall man was scrunched up in his seat, coffee already forgotten on the table beside his chair. He was still dressed in his rain wet coat, the mass of curls on his head every now and then dripping water to his cheeks, and his eyes, his eyes were shut while his chest was rising steadily – he was asleep.

Molly let out a relieved sigh.

_Finally_.

Feeling slightly more content than she had been feeling, she allowed her eyes to close once more and fell in to a sweet sleep.

* * *

><p>By the time she woke up, she found Sherlock on the floor playing with Elizabeth in a way she had once seen John.<p>

It made her still for a moment.

She couldn't quite believe it.

She'd never seen Sherlock outright play with Elizabeth before.

It was… _adorable? _

Oh hell!

That didn't even seem to explain how bloody beautiful the sight before her was!

Her eyes snapped to his when she realised he was now facing her with a questioning eye.

"I've just never seen you with Elizabeth like this before."

"Tonight is for John and Mary." He stated and suddenly Molly understood.

He wouldn't usually do this because it wasn't him but tonight, he – they were saying goodbye to two of their friends and they were honouring them by living one night in the way they would have.

What Molly was seeing before her was simply John in the form of Sherlock.

Molly smiled a little and then sat down on the floor beside them.

"How long have you been awake?"

"Half an hour."

"And you've been doing this for half an hour?"

"Is this not what we said we would do, Molly?" He questioned while continuing to play with Elizabeth.

Molly nodded her head, "I just didn't think you'd be doing it for that long is all…"

"This was John's way Molly. He devoted a lot of time to Elizabeth. He devoted so much time he couldn't come on a few of the cases I've taken on since she was born."

Molly frowned slightly.

There was something in Sherlock's voice.

"What is it?"

"Hm?"

He was smiling at Elizabeth now; he ruffled the few curls that were now growing on her head in a manner that was very John Watson.

"Your tone – what aren't you saying?"

He paused for a brief moment, barely noticeable but Molly saw.

His eyes slowly turned on to her and his face held an expression she didn't quite understand.

"You have an uncanny ability to see through some of my charades, Molly."

Molly's eyebrows creased together and Sherlock sighed as he explained further what he meant to her.

"The day before my suicide you pulled me up on the charade I was putting on in front of John; you pointed out how miserable I looked, remember?"

How could she forget?

That was the day she believed she was blessed with Sherlock Holmes' respect.

"I remember."

"I don't put on many acts, Molly, but this is the second one I've pulled in front of you and you've managed to see through it once again."

Molly frowned.

What was she seeing exactly?

Sherlock sighed again and nearly rolled his eyes at how oblivious she was being considering she already knew.

"You heard it in my voice."

She nodded her head.

"I heard something in your voice… I just don't know what it was."

It was Sherlock's turn to nod his head.

"Explain."

"John stopped coming on some of my cases as he believed it would be dangerous and he didn't want to risk it now he had a family. It all just seems so wasteful now considering he died and he died in the most boring way possible. He didn't even leave me something behind to investigate. A bloody damn car accident."

Molly nearly laughed at Sherlock.

This was the charade he was putting on?

It wasn't much of an act.

She didn't have the heart to tell him that.

He had just lost his best friend after all; of course he would be somewhat off his game.

"It's just so selfish of him!" Sherlock exclaimed making Molly jump and Elizabeth whimper slightly.

There it was.

Molly had been waiting for an outburst like this since they had received that devastating phone call.

_Finally_.

"Why couldn't he have left me something! Why couldn't he have just left me something so I wouldn't be going out of my mind and – and _feeling _all these emotions that I've never felt before!"

Molly moved closer to Sherlock and tentatively reached a hand out to rest on his shoulder.

"Hey, calm down, Sherlock." She whispered, leaning her mouth closer to his ear so she could whisper softly to him.

"It's going to be OK. I know it's hard and it will be for a while yet, but it'll get easier. When I lost my dad, I didn't feel right for the first year and I can't say I've ever felt right since but you get on with it, you learn to accept it and then one day you just wake up and realise that you're OK, and they wouldn't want for you to hurt like this and so you become stronger. As for the way John died, you're not mad at him for that… you're just angry that he's left you which is understandable. But Sherlock, he has left you something to _investigate_." Molly turned Sherlock's head with her hands and directed him to look at Elizabeth who was lying in between his legs.

"He left his daughter in your care. This is a whole new division for you, a child is a big responsibility and there's so much to learn from bringing up one… and John and Mary have left you that. He may have not died in a way that has left you a mystery but here in this room is your biggest challenge yet."

Molly smiled and dropped her hands from his head.

She watched as Sherlock took in her words.

She wasn't sure if she should expect a reply or not but as he began to play with Elizabeth again, she knew she wouldn't be getting one.

As she watched the two together she knew her words had sunk in to him.

Molly knew she had _helped _him.

Her eyes lingered on the pair for a few minutes and she was surprised Sherlock didn't mention it.

After she took her eyes from them, they fell on the television and she moved forward to switch it on.

"How about we watch a bit of _'The Hive_?'"

She giggled slightly at Sherlock's perplexed expression.

He obviously hadn't been faced with the goodness of Buzz Bee yet.

"As long as it isn't _'In The Night Garden' _I can handle it."

Molly chuckled as all three of them sat back, Elizabeth in between them so they could watch the screen.

* * *

><p>At least an hour and a half passed before the television screen was turned off and Sherlock was playing with Elizabeth again whilst Molly was in the kitchen, preparing dinner for all three of them.<p>

She was only making small portions: Sherlock and Elizabeth of course wouldn't eat much and tonight Molly wasn't feeling that hungry.

Every now and then Molly's eyes would stroll up from whatever she was doing to Elizabeth and Sherlock.

Each and every time she fought off the urge to go and hug Sherlock.

Oh, how wonderful he would be with their own children.

Molly stilled instantly at the thought.

_Oh dear lord_.

She hadn't had such a thought in a dreadfully long time!

_Bad Molly!_

She had a boyfriend for Christ sakes!

As if on cue, her phone let out a shrill noise of a ringtone that was the phone's default.

She left the kitchen to grab it and paled as she noted the caller's name.

"Hey babe!"

Her voice sounded almost too fake; she had a feeling he would know something had just happened.

Sherlock's head snapped to look at Molly and he glared.

Who on earth had Molly talking like some trashy girl from Essex?

If she had been caked in fake tan and wearing the tightest, shortest, most ridiculous outfit possible he would have almost believed she was a cast member of that terribly dreadful television show _'The Only Way Is Essex.'_

"Where are you, Mol?"

"What do you mean where am I?"

"I'm outside your flat, knocking on the door. Why aren't you answering?"

"I'm at Baker Street, Toby."

Ah, the _boyfriend_.

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

Toby was so _typical_.

Toby was so _ordinary_.

_Boring_.

Molly could do better.

In fact he wouldn't have minded if Moriarty was still alive and she was dating him.

He would have been better than typical, ordinary, boring Toby.

"Again? Molly you've been staying there for the past damn week."

"Toby we've spoken about this."

"I don't care, Molly. Friends stay with each other one or two days after something like this not a bloody God damn week!"

Molly winced and moved back in to the back of the kitchen, wanting to move away so Sherlock couldn't hear as much.

It was useless really.

Toby was _loud_.

Toby was from _Essex_.

"Babe, I know I have but it's not just his friend his lost, it's his _best_ friend and his best friend's _wife_… then you can't forget that he's been left with _the kid_."

Sherlock frowned.

Since when did Molly begin to refer to Elizabeth as _'the kid?'_

Oh, how he hated Toby!

He swore to God if he ever met him, he'd punch him in the face.

Molly was like a beacon of light.

Toby surrounded her in darkness and overtook the brightness of her light.

Toby was more worthless than other humans.

"So? It's not your problem, Molly."

"Toby, I know it's not my problem but he's my friend… a _close_ friend," Molly murmured looking at him from the kitchen – their eyes locked, "I want to help him. He needs me right now."

"And I need you more, Molly. I'm your _boyfriend_! I have _needs_!" He growled down the phone to her.

"His best friend died, Toby! He needs me far more than you do right now. I told you this was going to happen. I told you how we are going to be mourning their loss tonight! You knew I wasn't going to be in, well you should have bloody known. We'll talk about this tomorrow, I need to go. The dinner's burning."

"But babe, oh my –"

Molly cut his voice off by hanging up her mobile phone and returning to cooking the dinner.

Toby was a lovely man.

A bit of a stereotype in the way he spoke, dressed and looked but other than that he was lovely and he treated Molly like a princess in a fairytale.

When it came to her relationship with Sherlock, he turned in to something else. He never understood their relationship and he sure as hell didn't appreciate the way Molly dropped everything for him, especially not after he found out how Molly used to feel for him – in truth still felt for him.

She understood why he was angry with her.

She hadn't seen him at all this week.

She'd practically been living at Baker Street.

She hadn't even stayed at Toby's yet.

He was her boyfriend.

Sherlock Holmes was just her friend and yet it seemed like she had moved in with him.

She understood his anger towards the situation.

But there was a reason for it.

He had to understand that.

Boyfriend or not, her friends came first.

Sherlock needed her more than anything right now and she wasn't about to abandon him.

Two of the people he was closest to in his life had just died and he was left to look after their four month old daughter.

He couldn't do it alone.

How could Toby not understand that?

Molly sighed.

"Mol–"She cut Sherlock off before he even had a chance.

She'd heard it all before.

She knew he didn't approve of her choice in partner.

But when had he ever?

Hadn't he told her once that she should give up dating altogether?

"Not tonight, Sherlock."

He didn't speak another word after that.

* * *

><p>The two ate in relative silence, Molly feeding Elizabeth and Sherlock making the little girl giggle when she turned stubborn and refused to take in the food Molly offered her.<p>

Once dinner was finished, Sherlock cleaned up the mess made from cooking while Molly played with Elizabeth.

Molly found it all rather funny to watch.

She had never seen Sherlock do anything as domestic as this and she told him that which resulted in him sending her a withering glare all the while his arms were covered in soap suds.

It made Molly giggle more before Sherlock joined them down on the floor and they both played with Elizabeth together.

Elizabeth started to become irritable, moaning at them and soon she began to cry.

"Tired," Molly whispered as she held the crying baby in her arms.

"You tidy up this mess," Molly nodded her head to the blanket of toys covering the floor of 221b, "and I'll go get her changed and put her down to bed."

Sherlock nodded and watched as the two most important girls in his life left the room.

He quickly made haste of the task bestowed upon him before entering in to John's old room, and watching as Molly rocked Elizabeth's crib and sung to the drowsy baby.

Sherlock came to stand beside her and let his hand slip down in to the crib where he stroked the baby's head which soon caused her to fall in to a much deeper sleep.

She was out for the night.

On went both baby monitors and the pair left the room.

Once the door to the room was shut, Molly looked up towards Sherlock.

"Shall we get ready for bed?"

He nodded.

Their mourning of John and Mary would soon be coming to an end.

* * *

><p>The two took turns in the bathroom, each coming out fresh faced, teeth cleaned, and pyjama's in place of their everyday clothing – Sherlock in purple silk and his blue dressing gown while Molly was in a pair of flannel white and pink, polka dot pyjama's and a white, fleece dressing gown.<p>

They both ended up on the sofa, watching that incredibly poor show Sherlock had thought of earlier: _'The Only Way Is Essex' _before falling to sleep.

Molly was the first to wake this time.

The first she noticed was that there was a rerun of that dating show _'Take Me Out' _on and that Sherlock's arm was now wrapped around her shoulders and her head on his own shoulder.

She gulped.

She did not want to move.

She could already feel her muscles aching.

If she moved they'd reject it and she couldn't take that pain.

Why on earth did she have to fall asleep like this on his shoulder?

It may have been a lovely shoulder but to fall asleep on it, really?

She sighed.

He moved slightly.

She held her breath.

She heard him groan.

She twisted her head enough to look up at him.

He was looking down at her.

She lifted her head from his shoulder.

"Molly."

"Sherlock."

He didn't release her from his embrace.

They stretched their legs out together.

"What on earth is that shit?" Sherlock nodded his head towards the television.

"A hilarious dating show."

Sherlock groaned at her words and Molly giggled.

"It can't be any worse than that program from earlier. I doubt that any of them had even heard of the word grammar before."

Molly laughed louder and for another half an hour they spoke about how dreadful the show they had watched really was.

They soon fell in to silence.

Molly looked around the living room of 221b.

Sherlock watched Molly as she looked around his living room.

"I know we haven't discussed this, Molly, but I want you to sleep in my bed tonight."

Sherlock felt Molly still under his arms.

Her eyes turned on to him and he watched her as she chewed on her bottom lip.

He cast his eyes back on to hers, waiting for a response.

He didn't get one.

"Just because it's how John and Mary would have gone to bed." He added on.

Molly nodded her head.

"OK." She agreed.

Sherlock pulled his arm away from her shoulders and stood up.

He held his hand out towards her.

She let her hand slip in to his as he pulled her up and led her to his bedroom.

Molly's stomach was a swarm of butterflies.

She felt like she was going to be sick.

She grabbed the baby monitor on the way in and put it on top of one of his dresser draws as he shut the door behind him.

His room was dark and gave nothing away about who Sherlock Holmes was.

These walls around her were basically a personified version of the man she had once been so afraid to speak to.

The man she was thinking off was now tucked up in his bed, staring at her – dressing gown now adorning the carpet of his room.

"Molly, come and get in."

She shivered at the sound of his voice.

She let her dressing gown slip from her shoulders and join his on the floor before taking the few needed steps towards the bed, and slipping under the ever so soft sheets.

Her eyes hadn't left his and his hadn't left hers.

The room was pitch black as Sherlock hadn't turned on a light and preferred to have his thick, black curtains drawn all day and night.

Molly was still looking at Sherlock.

Sherlock was still looking at Molly.

Sherlock turned around on his side to face Molly.

Molly turned around on her side to face Sherlock.

Sherlock slowly began to lean in towards Molly.

Molly slowly began to lean in towards Sherlock.

Molly's eyes were the first to flutter shut.

Sherlock's lips were the first to make contact.

The kiss was sweet and chaste, simple but passionate; the kiss that set both alight inside and left them aching for more as they pulled back and opened their eyes.

They were both staring at one another.

The moment seemed to last for some time before Molly broke it with a simple phrase that gave their kiss meaning.

"Goodnight and goodbye, John and Mary."

Sherlock followed her by repeating the phrase before turning over in the bed and closing his eyes.

Molly watched him for a few moments before doing the same.

Oh, tomorrow would be the start of a life without John and Mary.

She wasn't quite sure if the man beside her was up to it or not.

All Molly really knew was that she was going to be there for him, no matter what.

* * *

><p><strong>Authors Note: <strong>Yay! I finally finished writing this. I had to leave it alone for a couple of days but I wasn't tired today and I'm quite happy with what I've written. I hope you like what I've done and that this chapter has given you a break in between the depressing parts of this story. I mean this chapter still isn't the happiest of ones but I think it's sweet and I really wanted to write it and clear a couple of things up! Anyways, I do not own _The Hive, In The Night Garden, The Only Way Is Essex _or _Take Me Out_. To anyone reading this and from Essex, I hope I have not offended you! That was not my intention and in fact I'm from Essex myself. I don't live up to the stereotype of an Essex girl but seen as I am an actual Essex girl it was something I was comfortable taking the piss out off! I hope you liked it! Let me know?

Thanks for reading.

Petal.


	7. Trinkets and Toes

**Take This Hand, We Can Do It.**

**Authors Note: **Wow guys, its only chapter seven and you've already given me over 100 reviews. I feel so honoured to have you all as readers! Last night, I was going to write up another chapter but I decided instead I'd write out this whole story – the plan – and after an hour I finished it and my, I'm so pleased with what I've done! It's going to be twenty-five chapters that is including an epilogue. I'm not going to fool you all like I did during 'Give His Heart a Break.' I was considering it but I thought, fuck no! So anyways, this story is going to be new for me as it involves something I don't know much about. Lucky for me, I have two people I can turn to about it. ;) However, here's chapter seven; I hope you like it!  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>I do not own Sherlock in anyway.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Seven: Trinkets and Toes.<strong>

The morning after Molly and Sherlock had laid Mary and John to rest everything went back to normal.

Neither Molly nor Sherlock spoke of any of the happenings from the night before.

The sweet kiss shared between them was left as a secret to the night, not that either minded.

Molly thought a conversation about it would be awkward.

Sherlock, quite frankly, didn't care for the kiss.

It had been a moment he knew Mary and John would have shared before sleep.

That was all.

He felt _nothing_ for Molly.

A conversation about the kiss between them would suggest otherwise, he didn't want to rekindle the feelings Molly had for him.

He may have not liked Toby but he sure as hell would rather her with _him_ than chasing after himself, a man who would never put himself in such a situation.

Currently, the pair were going through Mary and John's things.

Every now and then Molly would stop and show Sherlock a physical memory she had found – often in the form of a photograph, a card, a note, and the occasional trinket.

Sherlock cared not.

He simply wished Molly would stop.

It left him feeling awkward.

He had no reply for Molly other than something rude.

He knew that his rudeness upset Molly and if he were honest, he hated to upset Molly.

It would just be for the better if she didn't keep trying to show him the things she found.

He told her that which resulted in Molly's eyes glossing over and her leaving the room.

He sighed.

_Emotions_.

They were _complicated_ and _useless_.

"Molly," he called, following her out in to the hall, leaving Elizabeth in her playpen in the living room.

He found Molly sitting on the stairs.

Her lip was trembling as she forced back the tears waiting to fall.

He sighed, once again.

"What did I say?"

He honestly didn't get how he had offended her with what he had said – he was just stating a fact.

He sat down next to her on the stairs when she didn't reply.

He felt like a _clown_.

There was barely any space between them.

He liked Molly.

She was one of the good people in the world.

She was one of the only ones who could even somewhat be considered a friend in his life.

However, that didn't mean he appreciated being this close to her.

He did like his personal space.

"What are you going to do when Elizabeth wants you to share with her some memories of her parents? Tell her no simply because it makes you feel awkward? You can't do that, Sherlock. Just because you don't like the situation doesn't mean it can just be stopped." Molly whispered, a few tears slipping from her eyes and hitting her hands.

"I know I wasn't as close to them as you, Sherlock, but they were still my friends and as much as you hate the world of emotions – I-I'm feeling a lot of them right now and this is one of the only ways I know of coping with them. I just wish you could understand that and even if it's a fake reaction… just react as if you feel!"

Sherlock frowned down at his pathologist.

"I feel."

Molly looked up at him.

"I know you feel, Sherlock," she whispered before looking back at her hands, "I just mean–I–that you'd feel something towards the memories I'm finding. I know they mean something to you, I just wish you'd let me see what they mean to you."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"Molly–"

She cut him off by standing up and shaking her head.

"Don't worry. It's not important. Come on, let's check on Elizabeth; you cannot leave her alone you know. Social services would take her off you for the amount of time you've left her alone if they found out." She teased and walked back in to the living room to coo at the little baby and check on her.

Sherlock watched her leave, her words still resounding in his head.

He didn't hear anything she spoke off about Elizabeth but he soon got up and followed her in to the living room to check on the little girl who was now in his care.

"Molly…" He called out, a nervous hilt to his tone.

The brunette rounded the corner from the kitchen and looked at him.

"Yes?"

"Elizabeth smells awful."

Sherlock frowned down at the little baby who was smiling up at him.

"Check her nappy." The brunette rolled her eyes and turned back around, going in to the Watson's kitchen.

Sherlock glared at Molly before bending down to pick Elizabeth up.

He hadn't done this before.

What on earth was he supposed to do?

He'd never seen this done before.

He'd always refused to watch Mary, John or Harley.

When Molly had insisted that she would teach him how to do so he had simply narrowed his eyes on to her, and in a dangerous voice growled at her that if she even so much as started to change Elizabeth in front of him, he would personally murder her cat.

Molly had gasped but took his threat as a real one and after changing Elizabeth's nappy she left 221b and proceeded to ignore Sherlock for the next three days.

She'd come home from work one day to find him sitting on her sofa, waiting for her.

It wasn't exactly her fault she forgave him – he practically forced her in to it.

But now, Molly was in the kitchen and refused to help him.

He glared down at Elizabeth who simply continued to smile up at him and make those goddamn annoying baby cooing sounds.

"It can't be too hard, Elizabeth. Even morons can change a baby's nappy and believe me when I say I am no moron." He smiled at the little girl before he pulled up the dress Molly had clothed her in this morning and quickly deduced how to undo the nappy.

When he was successful, his eyebrows shot up at what he found.

"Molly," he called the worry evident in his voice.

Molly came rushing in.

She'd only ever heard his voice sound desperate like this once before and that was when he had come to her for help in faking his death.

"What on earth's the matter, Sherlock?" She gasped.

"Is Elizabeth OK?" She rushed to his side, her eyes running over the baby's form trying to discover the problem.

"Molly, there's just nothing."

Molly's eyebrows knitted together.

"I don't follow…"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and looked up at her.

"Molly, her nappy is empty."

Molly's eyes widened at what Sherlock had just said.

Was he _serious_?

"That's exactly my thoughts, Molly."

She highly doubted he was thinking along the same lines as her.

"Oh dear God, Sherlock… there's nothing wrong with her nappy being empty."

"But the smell…" He frowned.

For a genius, he was certainly oblivious at times.

Molly laughed.

Sherlock glared at her.

He found nothing amusing about their current situation.

He was just about to tell Molly that before she spoke, explaining.

"Sherlock, she was probably just passing wind."

_Oh_.

He hadn't thought of that.

Why on earth had he not thought of that?

Why did he simply come to the conclusion that something was wrong?

Thinking about it now, he had no idea.

There was certainly nothing for him to deduce a problem from.

Molly sat down beside him and did Elizabeth's nappy up and pulled her dress down, she then settled her on to the floor where she began to progress from her sniper's crawl in to an almost proper crawl across the carpet to one of her toys.

Molly smiled as she watched Sherlock.

She couldn't help but wonder if John had moments like this.

He must have.

It was incredibly sweet watching one process through Sherlock.

"Don't worry, Sherlock. It happens to all fathers."

"I'm not her father." He snapped.

His eyes landed on Molly and he glared.

She gulped and looked away, feeling ashamed.

"I didn't mean it like that."

"How else could you have meant it, Molly?"

Before she had a chance to answer, Sherlock spoke again.

"We should get back to work. Lots to sort out still." He murmured and stood from his seat.

Molly nodded her head in agreement but didn't dare move, she just watched him.

He'd been like this all day.

Hot and cold.

It _hurt_.

It was worse than normal.

She figured it was to do with his grieving the loss of John but still… it hurt.

She held back the tears that wanted to fall.

She stood up and got back to work.

* * *

><p>An hour later, Sherlock spoke again.<p>

He'd found a trinket of John's and proceeded to tell her how it had come about.

It was from one of their cases.

It was a _funny_ story really.

A funny _memory_ really.

She assumed that was Sherlock's way of saying sorry to her right now.

She smiled at him and laughed when it was necessary; her way of showing him she accepted his apology.

* * *

><p>Another hour passed and the two decided to call it quits for the day.<p>

Elizabeth was getting tired and Molly was getting hungry.

Sherlock had sorted most of the financial parts out and Molly had sorted at least half of their belongings out.

Molly had gotten Elizabeth ready and back in to her pram, she followed Sherlock out of the house and watched him lock up.

She pushed the pram down the path and then paused as they came out of the gate.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"Forget something?"

She hadn't.

He knew that.

He also knew why she'd paused.

He just didn't want to register it.

He knew not why.

"Sherlock… I-I… it's just… I-uh… God, this is hard," she whispered that part mostly to herself, "I have to go home."

She looked down at Elizabeth who was already asleep in her pram before looking back up at Sherlock.

"I can't keep making my neighbour check on Toby and I have a boyfriend… it's not really right for me to be practically living with you. I'll be here if you need me – I'm a text away. But you need to get in to a routine with Elizabeth and you need to learn to cope on your own… I'm not helping you move on."

Sherlock glared at her.

He saw nothing wrong with their routine.

He also didn't like the fact this was to do with _Toby_.

Why couldn't he understand that this was how Molly was living right now?

He continued to glare at her, letting no emotion slip over his cold face.

"Mrs Hudson will be back in a couple of days and you'll have a woman on hand to help you take care of Elizabeth, if you need it. But I need to get back to my life, Sherlock… it's been a week. I need to go back to work; Bart's will only give me so much leeway."

Sherlock nodded his head, curtly.

Molly sighed.

She hadn't expected this kind of reaction.

She thought he'd be glad to get rid of her by now.

"So, I'll check in on you tomorrow, OK?"

Sherlock didn't even give her a nod this time.

She moved forward, about to give him a hug, but she paused and reached out a hand and awkwardly patted his shoulder.

They stood like that for a few moments before Molly pulled back and bent down and pecked Elizabeth's head.

Sherlock's chest _tightened_ at the scene before his eyes.

He didn't know why.

He didn't particularly fancy analysing it right now either.

He watched as Molly walked in the opposite direction of the way he'd be taking Elizabeth in a few moments.

He sighed and once she'd turned the corner, he turned around himself.

He began to walk.

His mind slowly becoming crowded with his thoughts.

He then _realised_.

He turned back around.

Elizabeth's pram was still sat outside the Watson's house, the baby peacefully sleeping.

His eyes widened a fraction.

_Shit_.

How on earth was he going to be her guardian?

He wasn't cut out for this.

There was no structure to this.

Every great crime had a structure, parenting didn't.

Every child would be different and taking care of them wouldn't be the same as taking care of another.

He couldn't do this.

He sighed and went back and quickly grabbed a hold of her pram and pushed her along the street until a taxi came in sight and he hailed it down.

After a slight struggle on working out how to get the pram in to the cab – the driver explained how to.

Sherlock begrudgingly thanked him and then climbed in himself and ordered the driver to take him to "221 Baker Street."

* * *

><p>Sherlock and Elizabeth soon reached Baker Street and he paid the cabbie and with some difficulty he removed the pram from the back of the taxi.<p>

He pulled the pram up the steps of 221 and then dropped the pram off in the hallway, pulling Elizabeth from it and with the baby bag and baby, he ran up the stairs and to 221b.

He placed Elizabeth on the floor of the flat, dropped her baby bag to the sofa and sat down with a sigh.

He didn't want to dwell on all the thoughts he was having right now.

It involved analysing emotions he just didn't want to face and so instead, he went to the fridge and pulled out a jar of toes.

It was time he had a look at the experiment he had started two weeks ago.

Removing the toes from the jar he got all the equipment he needed and got to work.

He was so absorbed in what he was doing, he barely noticed another person in the flat with him and Elizabeth.

He finally looked up after the tenth time the woman had cleared her throat.

He frowned but didn't stand up.

He spoke nothing, waiting for her to start.

"Your front door was open as was your flats door." She stated.

He still made no comment; his eyes however did fall to Elizabeth in her arms.

He suddenly felt rather angry at the sight.

He began to take the woman in: black suit, clearly not tailored for her – she probably brought it from M a pair of dress trousers, blazer with a white blouse; well-worn as was the woman's face: dark circles caressed the skin under her eyes, an indication that she worked late and had many sleepless nights, most likely because of her job. From the stain located just beneath the collar of her blouse – a small stripe of red felt tip – she worked with children. A job that is made up of long hours and sleepless nights and revolves around children points to her being a social worker. Judging from the keys visible in her hands – two key rings featuring a cat and dog – she has no children of her own and is recently divorced due to the shading of the skin on her ring finger.

Final conclusion: she's mine and Elizabeth's social worker.

Sherlock automatically stood up and plastered on a smile and held his hand out.

"Hello, I'm Sherlock Holmes! Thank-you so much for letting me know about those blasted doors! They always seem to be coming open – a problem my landlady needs to get sorted." He tutted and rolled his eyes up to the sky. "I've told her about it but she just doesn't seem to do anything about them."

Mrs Hudson would have probably clipped him on the back of the head if she had heard him right now.

The woman in front of him just stared, giving him a 'do-you-honestly-expect-me-to-believe-this-crap' face.

Sherlock continued to smile sweetly at her; he really thought she'd by in to his act.

"This little one was about to make her way down the stairs."

Sherlock's heart dropped.

"You really best get that door fixed." The social worker glared and handed Elizabeth over to Sherlock.

"Oh my, I took my eye off her for just one second."

The social worker's eyes slipped down to the toes Sherlock had been experimenting on; she just about stopped herself from throwing up.

"I'm sure you did."

"Can I help you?" He asked, his voice dripping with a velvety honey as he smiled warmly at her.

"Yes, you can. First off all drop the act, Mr Holmes. I may not be as clever as the worlds… what is it now? The world's _one and only consulting detective_?" Sherlock gave a curt nod.

"But I am no idiot, Mr Holmes. I know when someone's trying to deceive me and right now, you are. So kindly stop. Second of all, you can show me around your home and finally, pop the kettle on."

Sherlock's face fell instantly and he moved to put Elizabeth in the playpen Molly had set up in the living room.

He did not like this woman at all.

Begrudgingly, he did as she asked him.

The kettle was currently boiling as he was walking her around the flat while she made notes.

He answered her questions when she asked but other than that he remained silent.

When the kettle boiled, he wandered off, not bothering to ask her how she liked her tea – he simply prepared it.

She soon entered the kitchen again after taking a look at what room Elizabeth was staying in.

She accepted the tea he offered and took a seat in the living room, not trusting the surface off the kitchen table – it was full of God knows what.

She took a sip of her drink before placing it on the coffee table and looking towards Sherlock.

"As I am sure you _deduced _I am your case worker," she smiled in a teasing manner at Sherlock – he didn't respond to her obvious hint at knowing about his work, "my names Jenny, Jenny Smith." She smiled and extended her hand to Sherlock.

He didn't move to take it.

She withdrew her hand and made no comment on it.

She looked down at her notes and sighed not knowing where to begin.

"I'll be honest with you, Mr Holmes; your case isn't an important case. Elizabeth is in no danger from staying with you as you aren't going to intentionally hurt her. However, if you do not sort some things out then it is inevitable that Elizabeth will end up hurt."

Sherlock glared at Jenny.

Jenny ignored him and continued on.

"From the information I have about you, you are decent enough to take care of Elizabeth and her parents left her in your care which suggests they had some trust in you with her. In a situation like this we prefer to not make it any worse on the child, her world is already changed so drastically and we'd rather not have to take her away from someone she does know and throw her in to a world that isn't of the happiest variety."

Sherlock was beginning to switch off.

"For now, Mr Holmes, I am only here to check on the environment Elizabeth is living in. Right now, I'm red flagging this. This is absolutely disgusting. A child should not be brought up in such an environment – there's a damn toe on your kitchen table!" Jenny exclaimed.

Sherlock smirked.

"I understand that this is a difficult time for you right now," Sherlock scoffed – Jenny ignored him, "and so I will let this go, but I expect the next time I visit – in about a week – this flat is Elizabeth friendly."

Jenny stood up and looked down at Sherlock.

"Mr Holmes, I'm going to be frank with you: I don't understand what John and Mary Watson were thinking intrusting their daughter with you. I don't quite honestly believe you've got it in you to look after her but like anyone we'll give you a chance. Don't let us and Elizabeth down."

She finished off her tea and made her way to the door.

"Remember I'll be back in a week's time and when I come back I'll be interviewing you."

She was standing in the doorway, looking at him.

"Get the door fixed." She stated, closing it on the way out.

They both knew there was nothing wrong with the door.

They also both knew the deeper meaning to 'get the door fixed.'

Sherlock sighed and looked at Elizabeth and then to his toe sitting on the kitchen table.

His decision was made.

* * *

><p><strong>Authors Note: <strong> There it is! Damn, this chapter was barely planned in my little book and it's nearly four thousand words. God knows what the chapters that have a lot of detail in my book are going to turn out like. I'm excited. I had fun writing this tonight. I wrote it a lot earlier than I thought I would after last night. I may be able to get started on the next chapter tomorrow but I'm not sure yet. If it's not tomorrow I seriously do not know when I'll be able to work on this story as I'm fully loaded with Sixthform work now and that loads only going to be getting heavier! Last few months, I can do this! I hope. :|

Let me know what you thought of this chapter.

Thanks for reading!

Petal.


	8. Jealousy Bites

**Take This Hand, We Can Do It.**

**Authors Note: **Hey there! I'm sorry this is late. It should have been written Monday because I got off early but I was so tired and every time I tried to write I fell asleep. Then I just got busy, lol. It was mostly written on Tuesday but once again I was so tired I couldn't complete it. But here it is! So, thank-you to those of you who read 'Blushing Proposals.' I do have some other oneshots in mind and I might write another one soon but for now on with chapter eight!  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>Sherlock is in no way mine.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Eight: Jealousy Bites. <strong>

The doorbell to 221b let out a shrill ring.

Not a soul moved.

Elizabeth was asleep in her crib in John's room.

Sherlock was sitting in his chair, tapping away on his laptop.

The bell sounded again.

"Mrs Hudson!" Sherlock called.

The elderly woman didn't answer.

Not even a scolding remark.

Sherlock forgot he'd even called the woman's name by the time the shrill sound died out.

He continued typing before letting out a frustrated grunt at the bell went off again.

"Mrs Hudson! Door!"

No reply came.

Once again, Sherlock remained quiet as the sound stopped.

Furiously he typed away on the keys, trying to figure out his current task – it was proving rather hard.

His phone let out an angry buzzing upon the table that was just out of arms reach.

Sherlock's eyes slipped to it for a moment.

Those ice-like eyes returned to their computer screen.

He ignored it.

A few seconds later, the angry buzzing started again.

He didn't even bother to look up this time.

It went off after it'd buzzed twice.

He let out a growl.

He just couldn't seem to figure out what he was doing wrong right now!

The buzzing began again.

This time it lasted longer.

His eyes moved towards it.

The buzzing continued.

From this angle he could just about see that the name across the screen read 'Molly.'

He frowned.

A thousand possibilities ran through his head in that moment.

What if she'd been in an _accident_?

What if she was in _hospital_?

What if she was… _dead_?

He shook his head.

He sighed.

He couldn't think like this.

Just because it happened to _John _didn't mean it would happen to everyone else he… _cared _about.

He knew that.

Of course he knew that.

The chances of it happening were very slim.

He placed the laptop beside him and leant forward, just enough to snatch the phone up.

He pressed the answer call button and placed it to his ear.

"Molly."

"Open the door."

"Mrs Hudson is quite capable."

"As are you."

"I'm busy."

"So is Mrs Hudson."

"Doing what? Making tea? Taking her _herbals_? Busy not being a housekeeper?"

"No. She's busy at her sisters."

Sherlock's mouth formed a small 'o' shape.

Of course.

"The doors open."

He hung up the phone after that.

He let the phone fall to where it may and pulled the laptop back in to his lap.

He began typing again.

"Uh… Sherlock…"

"Hm?" He didn't look up from the screen.

"How do I get through this?"

Sherlock looked up to find Molly standing at 221b's front door, a rather large gate blocking the way in.

He didn't answer.

It wasn't _that _hard.

"Sherlock!" Molly growled.

He didn't look up at her.

"What?"

"Open the damn gate for me!" She exclaimed, already becoming frustrated with him.

"I'm sure you're capable enough to open a gate."

"Have you seen this thing?"

"I made it."

"Well then you can open it!"

Sherlock let out a rather loud sigh and looked up with a glare at Molly.

"You see the handle?"

Molly nodded her head.

"Take it, push it inwards; turn it right; turn it left; down twice; up once; right once more. It'll unlock and then just push it open."

Molly did as instructed and sure enough the gate that was just a little higher than her waist opened up.

She stepped inside and shut it, staring at it in utter confusion.

"What is that?"

Molly finally turned her head from it and was now sitting on the couch, still dubious of sitting in John's chair.

If Sherlock noticed her anxiousness as she made her seating decision, he didn't mention it.

"A gate, Molly."

"I figured that much."

"Then your question was rather pointless, don't you think?"

She ignored the remark and rephrased.

"Why is it there?"

"Elizabeth."

"I see."

"Yes."

"No. I don't see. Explain."

He sighed.

"Molly she could escape."

"You make her sound like a prisoner. She's a baby, Sherlock, not a criminal."

He looked up from the laptop and glared.

"I'm well aware of what she is." He spat at her.

Molly found the comment rather amusing and couldn't help the small grin that formed on her lips.

"I don't quite get it still though."

"Molly, with a baby around I need to baby proof the flat – it seemed that a gate was very much needed."

"There are two gates."

"Yes."

"Why are there two gates?"

"In case Elizabeth somehow manages to get out of the first gate, that way she cannot go down the stairs."

"I couldn't get in through the door gate; I highly doubt she'll be able to get out." She murmured with a small smile.

Sherlock ignored her comment and continued to tap away at the keyboards keys.

"So, you're baby proofing the flat?"

She bit her lip.

It was incredibly hard not to find him adorable right now.

How could anyone not?

Sherlock Holmes, thee Sherlock Holmes, _baby proofing _his flat for the baby _he _has living with him.

"Of course; that's what you do when you have a child living in your premises."

"How would you know what you're supposed to do when you have a baby?"

Sherlock looked up at her with an incredulous look.

"Molly, just because I don't walk around cooing over every child I see doesn't mean I'm ignorant of how to look after one."

Molly held her hands up in defence.

"I never said you were."

"Social services visited; I have to sort the flat out or Elizabeth will be taken away."

Molly's mouth formed an 'o' shape and she nodded.

"How'd it go?"

"Bloody splendid, Molly. How do you think it went?"

Molly once again raised her hands, this time in surrender.

"Hey! I never said anything. I'm on your side, Sherlock. Calm down."

He tightened his jaw, saying nothing more.

"What are you looking at?" She nodded her head to the laptop.

It was probably best to change the topic.

"An interesting new case?"

"If you call finding ways to baby proof your kitchen/lab an interesting new case then yes."

Molly almost laughed out loud.

She caught herself and settled on a smile.

"_Oh, Sherlock_."

He looked up at her when he heard the sound of her voice.

His brows furrowed together.

His eyes were glaring at her.

Why couldn't she just spit it out?

Why did she _always _have to put _emotion _in to her every word?

He sighed.

"What?" He finally gave in and asked.

"You're going to have to get rid of your lab."

His eyes widened in outrage.

No such thing would be happening.

He'd find a way around it.

There was a way around it.

Of course there was.

There _had _to be.

His eyes slipped back down to the screen.

He settled on ignoring her after that.

He'd just continue to find a solution.

* * *

><p>He was bored now.<p>

No one had answers.

Everyone was so _dull_.

Why couldn't there be someone out there who could compare with his genius?

Perhaps they'd be able to help.

_Moriarty_.

Wait.

No.

He was glad there wasn't.

He didn't want to relive that.

He'd had his fair share of fake suicides to last him a life time.

His eyes found Molly again.

She was sorting the mess in his flat out.

He should have been angry.

But he wasn't.

He didn't quite know why he wasn't.

He just couldn't find it in him to feel such an emotion right now.

"Why are you here, Molly?"

His eyes trailed over her body, taking in everything about her.

The way her body stiffened at his question suggested that she was here to tell him something of 'importance.' The red colour on her cheek said that it was obviously something she was uncomfortable with and knew he'd be 'uncomfortable' with.

His eyebrows furrowed.

For some reason the name _Toby _came to his head.

Ah yes.

It was something to do with _him_.

Not her _cat_, Toby, no.

Her _boyfriend_, Toby.

* * *

><p>Molly slowly moved back towards him, leaving the task she was doing uncompleted.<p>

She sat back down on the couch and looked at him.

For a few moments all she could think about was why she was here.

Her thoughts slipped back to the night before.

_Molly was wearing a pretty navy blue dress that hung to her body in all the right places – she looked as if she really had curves! The neck was high on the dress and she'd decided to forfeit wearing a necklace but still had on a pair of small diamond earrings – plain, nothing special about them. On her wrist was a matching bracelet, diamonds running the entire length of the band. She wore no tights and a pair of navy heels – the heels being only a couple of inches._

_In all, her outfit was plain but she liked it._

_She felt pretty with her hair hanging down over her shoulders, naturally, and her makeup being done to minimal standard; a light dusting of foundation and a sweet pink lipstick._

_She was sure Sherlock would have ripped her apart._

_When she reached the restaurant Toby was taking her to, she was sure every other customer in the place would rip her apart._

_It was so, in lack of better words to say, fancy._

"_Toby, are you sure you can afford this place?" Molly had questioned, nervously, gripping on to his hand tighter._

"_Babe, I'm a lawyer; a decent one at that, of course I can afford this place."_

_Molly had laughed anxiously but had followed him inside and to their seats that were already waiting for them._

_Molly felt underdressed, far too underdressed._

_When Toby had phoned her and told her to dress up for tonight, she hadn't expected it to be this formal._

_If she had known, she would have perhaps worn that dress she'd worn for Sherlock all those years ago._

_At that dreadful Christmas party._

_She winced at the memory, slightly._

_Perhaps not._

_Molly sat down in the chair that the waiter offered her._

"_Wine sir?"_

"_Your finest, please."_

_Molly almost winced again._

_That was incredibly… corny._

"_Of course, sir."_

_The waiter wandered off to fetch them their beverage._

"_What do you think of the place, babe?"_

"_It's lovely. I wasn't expecting this… I feel underdressed." She murmured, blushing furiously._

_She felt awkward._

_Toby leant forward and clutched her hand in his._

"_Don't, darling. You look beautiful, absolutely stunning." _

_His eyes took her in, in a way that made her feel like she was his prey._

_She gulped._

_The waited returned with their wine and poured it in to their glasses and left again, giving them a chance to look at the menu._

_The pair did and Molly nearly fainted at the prices._

_She knew Toby was a good lawyer but surely even he couldn't afford prices so lavish._

_She didn't say that to him, of course, but she did order the cheapest thing on the menu and even that wasn't that cheap._

_Whilst waiting for their food they spoke about things of unimportance, like they usually did._

_It was comfortable, enjoyable._

_The conversation died out as they began to eat until Toby put down his knife and fork which caused Molly to stop eating, mid-chew._

"_What?" She asked with a mouthful as he stared at her._

_She then realised, blushed and swallowed._

_He laughed and then leant forward to take the knife and fork from her hand, placing them beside the plate._

_She frowned and looked to his eyes._

_Was she not supposed to eat?_

_Was this a joke?_

_Were they going to have to run?_

_She hoped not._

_The heels may not have been high but for someone not used to wearing heels, they were uncomfortable and she didn't quite believe she'd be able to run in them._

_She was about to voice her opinion when he spoke._

"_You don't know how much I love you, Molly." He whispered, stroking her thumb with his own._

_Maybe not._

_She smiled and nodded her head, blushing once again._

"_I do. I love you, too."_

_He smiled._

"_I'm so glad you're not staying with __**him **__anymore, Molly. This is where you're meant to be. While you were staying with him last week, I realised this and God, I was just being driven insane with the need to claim you."_

_Molly frowned._

_It went unnoticed by Toby._

_Claim her?_

_She said nothing, letting him continue._

"_The thought of you living with another man… it's not nice, babe. It's horrible not to be able to just come over to yours whenever I want to just be with you. That's how it should be, y'know?"_

_Molly nodded her head._

_Toby was absentmindedly tracing patterns over the skin of her hand._

_Where was he going with this?_

_Toby sighed and ran his free hand through his hair, messing it up._

"_I don't know how to say this, Molly. I'm not good with discussing my feelings. I'm a lawyer; I play on facts most days. But I need to do this."_

_Molly smiled softly._

"_Toby just spit it out. It'll be OK, I promise you."_

_He laughed and nodded before moving his other hand to her other one, too._

"_Molly, while you were staying with __**him **__I realised that I want you by my side all of the time and so what I'm trying to say is that... I love you, Molly Hooper and I would love it if you'd move in with me."_

_Molly's mouth fell open in shock._

* * *

><p>The brunette blinked and her mind focused back in on the present.<p>

Her eyes fell upon Sherlock who was looking at her with a curious expression, as if he couldn't quite figure out what was happening.

_Odd. _

"Well Sherlock, I'm here because… well… uh… y-y'see…" Molly took a breath and closed her eyes.

She had no reason to feel nervous about this.

But she was.

She reopened her eyes and looked at him.

He looked _irritated_ and _bored_.

She'd have to just come out and say it.

"Toby asked me to move in with him and I said yes."

The air in the room seemed to grow thicker as soon as the words left her mouth; the tension growing by the second.

The usually emotionless man before her now held an expression in his eyes that made her heart beat faster.

He looked _livid_.

He looked as if he could _kill_.

"It must be rather dreadful to live as you in this world, Molly. You make such dreadful decisions; your taste in men is almost as awful as the top you're wearing. Orange doesn't suit your skin tone and it hides the little of feminine attributes that you possess. If it weren't for the length of your hair one could mistake you for a male."

Molly felt tears sting her eyes.

She stood up.

Her jaw jutted out slightly.

She refused to cry.

She forced back the tears; held in the sob that was slowly crawling its way up her throat.

She kept her eyes on his.

She refused to lose the contact.

She'd stay strong.

"Why do you… always say such horrible things?"

Sherlock was transported back a few years, to a moment when he finally started to appreciate Molly.

A moment that he saw as one of his weakest.

He'd been so cruel to her.

He wasn't being any different now.

But that didn't stop him.

She was being ridiculous and she needed to know that.

He stood up with her.

Towering over her in a menacing manner.

Still she held her ground.

Her eyes never leaving his.

Her head tilted back slightly due to his height.

"It's what I see, Molly."

"It hurts, Sherlock."

"Dress more appropriately for your figure then."

She ignored him.

"This isn't about how I look! This was supposed to be about the decision I've made. I've never done something like this before – this is a huge step!"

Sherlock glared at her.

"It's a bad _step_."

"Why? Do you know something about Toby that I don't?"

Sherlock turned his head away from her face in a bout of anger.

He didn't.

Molly let out a bitter laugh.

"I see."

"See what?" He grunted.

"You're scared of losing me."

Sherlock scoffed and turned to face her.

"Losing you? You seem to believe I think highly of you."

Molly's jaw dropped and a tear slipped down the skin of her cheek.

She turned away from him in disbelief.

"You've said many hurtful things to me before, Sherlock… but that… that… that was by far the worst of them all."

She turned her eyes on him again.

"You want to know why?"

He gave no reply.

He simply stared at her.

Well, glared at her.

When she got no reply, she continued.

"That was the worst of them all because you've just lost me. If you don't think highly of me you sure as hell won't miss me. So have a good time on your own, all alone because that's all you're ever going to be, Sherlock; a sad man all alone except for the memory of his glory days of solving crimes in ways that caused people to be in awe of him, to admire him, to compliment him. Once Elizabeth reaches eighteen, she'll run away as fast as she can because she just won't be able to handle you anymore. Goodbye, Sherlock, because unlike you some of us don't want to be alone for our entire lives."

With that Molly slammed the door to 221b, leaving for the last time…

* * *

><p><strong>Authors Note: <strong>Ah, there it is! Chapter eight! Forgive me; it took longer than it should have. I meant to finish it last night but gosh, I was just so tired! Anyhow, it's all done now and I think I like it… I'm not quite sure. Why don't you be the judge of that? It wasn't too OOC right? Let me know? Thank-you, dears!

Petal.


	9. A State of Intoxicated Amnesia

**Take This Hand, We Can Do It.**

**Authors Note: **Hello there, dearies! I don't really have much to say today. I'm just sorry I don't update like I did when I was writing 'Give His Heart a Break' and I hope that, that doesn't put anybody off. Thank-you to every single one of you who continue to read and/or review this story, it means so much to me. I want to thank two people who inspire me to continue writing during moments when I just want to give up: Nocturnias and Murmeltierchen. And finally, I want to recommend one story to you all:

'_A Dance In The Dark' _by **MissRedheaded** – please take a look at this fic! Not only will it make her happy but it'll make me happy as I adore this story so far! I really hope you look at it and feel the same.

No more chatter, on with the chapter!  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>Sadly, Sherlock is still not mine… if it were, I believe I'd be leading a life of domestic bliss with a certain Benedict Cumberbatch and not sitting here writing fanfiction about him with another woman – albeit his character!

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><p><strong>Chapter Nine: A State of Intoxicated Amnesia.<strong>

One week flew by.

The second week dragged.

The third week crawled by in the slowest manner possible.

By the time the fourth week ended, Sherlock realised, albeit begrudgingly, that he _missed_ Molly.

He missed Molly so much that it… _hurt_.

He felt _drained_.

This was not something the consulting detective was used to.

Without Molly in his life he found himself thinking about John.

He found himself _longing _for John.

He found himself wishing John would walk through the door of 221b and take his _retched _daughter back.

When Sherlock found himself thinking like this, he scolded himself.

It was so… _ordinary_.

It was so… _boring_.

It was so… _plain_.

He was not an ordinary, boring, plain person.

He refused to become one of _those _people.

He may have been on the side of the angels, as James Moriarty had once stated, but, like back then, he was far from being one of _them_.

But he found that he couldn't help it.

No matter how much he tried to stop all the missing and longing, it always came back.

It always came back with a vengeance.

It hurt _more_.

It had hurt so much one night that he had found himself shovelling food in to his mouth only to throw it up an hour later.

He had mistaken the hurt for hunger pains.

After he had realised this, he had put Elizabeth to bed and silently sat in the darkened living room. He had been perched in his chair, legs brought up to his chest and fingers steepled just below his chin. His mind was racing, trying to understand these _things _he was _feeling_ and storing them in to his mind palace so he would never make such a mistake again; he was also trying to figure out a way of removing the sick-like feeling that was starting to make his head spin.

The only way he could think of, he rejected.

He refused to _apologise_ to Molly.

The thought made his eyebrows furrow down in disgust.

He would _not_ do such a thing when everything he had said had been _right_.

He'd sat there all night thinking about it.

He'd sat there until he heard the piercing cry of Elizabeth waking around six the next morning.

He'd stood from his chair, stretching his protesting limbs out, before making his way to John's old room.

That day he'd been more tired than ever before; his mind was still trying to come up with a solution while keeping Elizabeth entertained and happy.

He'd fallen asleep twice and had dosed off three times only to be woken by Elizabeth who was moments away from seriously hurting herself.

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><p>That had been two days ago.<p>

Barely anything had changed since then.

The sick-like feeling still remained within his stomach.

He'd still only had winks of sleep and, unlike when he was on a case; this was starting to affect his ability to function.

Currently, he was sat in the kitchen at his table with his eye glued to his microscope, trying to fathom out what was happening on the slide below but his mind appeared to have a haze over it, and nothing was making any sense at all; he especially couldn't make sense of it all when in the background all he could hear was Elizabeth playing with some godforsaken toy!

He almost felt like taking it away from her, only almost, though.

He knew John would disapprove if he did.

And she was John's daughter after all.

"Sherlock Holmes and a baby, I never thought I'd quite live to witness such a… _heart-warming _scene."

The words were followed by the tap of something against the floorboards.

_Mycroft_.

Sherlock pulled back from his microscope; his eyes fell towards Elizabeth before zipping towards his brother who was leaning on an umbrella.

Sherlock graced him with a glare.

"What are you doing here? As you know, your _visits _aren't welcomed nor are they appreciated."

Mycroft rolled his eyes at his younger brother.

"You're always the same, Sherlock. Repetitive; it's rather _dull_."

Mycroft smirked as the glare deepened on Sherlock's face.

"Is that a grey hair I see? I believe it is. Oh dear, Mycroft, your hairdresser doesn't appear to be up to scratch; you should fire him and before you hire a new one, you should book a consultation appointment inquiring about _hair transplants_ – you could sure use one."

Sherlock stood from his kitchen table and moved towards Elizabeth.

He picked the little girl up and sat down in his chair.

Mycroft felt sick at the image of his brother and a… _child_.

But the image before him left him with conflicting thoughts.

Sherlock looked so at ease; it was almost like he belonged in the role of a… _parental figure_.

Mycroft ignored the thought – appearances were deceiving and he knew his brother well enough to know he was not going to be a good father figure for the child.

Sherlock was unstable and unreliable; the child needed reliable and stability.

Ignoring the comment about his hair, Mycroft sat down in John's chair which earned him an even angrier glare.

He refrained from rolling his eyes.

_Sentiment_.

His brother thought he was above it, but he knew better than that.

Sherlock Holmes was probably one of the most sentimental people he had ever met; it didn't take a genius to figure out that Sherlock helped out on cases for more than just the thrill – he liked to help save lives.

"Aren't you going to offer me a cup of tea?"

"No, but I can offer you a cake. You appear to have put on a pound so I take it you are no longer on your diet."

Sherlock grinned, wickedly, at his brother while Mycroft simply narrowed his eyes on him.

"I've lost a stone, thank-you very much."

Sherlock scoffed, saying no more.

He turned away from his brother, looking to his mantel place, chin stuck out in stubbornness.

"I'm here–"Sherlock cut him off before he could even truly start.

"I know why you're here."

"Then you'll know I disapprove."

"Of course."

Mycroft sighed.

"When will you give up this charade?"

Sherlock turned to glare at his brother.

"There's no charade to give up."

"You're not cut out to be a _father_, Sherlock."

"It's a good thing I'm not being a father then, isn't it." Sherlock ground the words out, his anger bubbling, getting ready to erupt.

A sigh left Mycroft's mouth once again.

"And what exactly do you think you're doing then?"

"Fulfilling the wishes of a man I highly respect."

"John Watson was an idiot."

That was when Sherlock snapped.

He placed Elizabeth to the floor and launched himself at his brother.

He landed a smack to his jaw and then one to his eyebrow before growling in his face.

"Don't you ever talk about John that way!"

Mycroft didn't so much as flinch when the blows landed against his face.

"Isn't that the way _you _used to speak to John?"

Sherlock pulled back, jutting his jaw out in anger once more.

"That was different," he muttered.

Mycroft pulled a handkerchief from his blazer pocket and began to dab at his jaw and eyebrow.

"How so?"

"John wasn't dead then!" Sherlock exclaimed.

His voice boomed around the flat so loud it caused Elizabeth to let out a tiny whimper which soon developed in to a wailing that was on the same level as a dying cat.

Sherlock groaned and instantly bent down to pick up Elizabeth, trying to sooth her.

Mycroft watched on in fascination as Sherlock calmed the little baby down in such a gentle manner that he never would have believed possible if he wasn't seeing it with his own eyes.

But even still, he knew his brother was a terrible candidate for looking after the child; after all he was the reason she was crying in the first place.

Sherlock sat back down in his chair, rocking Elizabeth to sleep.

He looked back up to his brother and hissed.

"Go."

Mycroft didn't move.

Sherlock felt the anger rising in his chest again.

"Mycroft. I. Said. Go."

Mycroft didn't move again, he simply reached in to his blazer pocket and pulled out his phone.

He tapped away on it a few times before finding what he needed.

"Actually, as much as I disapprove of this _situation _you are in, that is not why I came to _visit_."

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Of course."

Mycroft held his phone out to Sherlock.

Sherlock didn't move.

Mycroft sighed and placed the phone on the table.

"I would have come to you sooner but _Anthea _said it wasn't enough time for you to have _gotten over _this _incident _with John."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes on his brother.

"It's not an _incident_, Mycroft. John's _dead_."

Even Mycroft flinched at the venom in Sherlock's tone.

He didn't comment on it, he just continued.

"Anyways, I believe you have had enough time to _get yourself together _and so I wish to give you a case."

Although on the surface Sherlock appeared the same, on the inside he brightened up, considerably.

A case.

That was just what he needed.

Lestrade refused to give him any.

He thought he needed more time to _heal_.

It was ridiculous.

Right now, he was happy to get anything, even something as pointless as one of Mycroft's cases.

"I need you to locate someone who has _slipped _off our radar."

Sherlock almost laughed.

"You've lost someone. Oh, Mycroft, all the power you have and you've _lost _somebody."

Mycroft glared at him.

"Will you help?"

"No."

"Look at the phone."

"No."

"I said look at the phone."

"And I said no."

"It's _Irene Adler_."

Curiosity got the better of him.

He leant forward and snatched the phone up, glancing down at the intimidatingly, beautiful dominatrix on the screen of the phone.

"All the information you'll need is in this file which I will send to your phone."

Sherlock didn't reply and so Mycroft continued.

"She was last seen in Florence, Italy, five weeks ago. Since then we have not been able to locate her whereabouts and we are starting to fear for what she may be up to."

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Who's she blackmailing this time?"

Mycroft remained silent and tight-lipped.

Sherlock placed the phone back on the table.

"Will you take the case?"

"No."

The look in Sherlock's eyes contradicted his words.

Mycroft took his phone and with a few more taps to the keys, he stood up and looked down at his brother with the sleeping Elizabeth in his arms.

His eyes lingered on the little girl for a little longer than necessary; it didn't go unnoticed by Sherlock.

"I think you need a new flatmate."

Sherlock didn't say anything.

He just continued his glare; it almost seemed ever present when Mycroft was around.

"I'll be going now, brother dear."

"You're becoming irritatingly more boring than normal, Mycroft."

Mycroft left without another word, the tap of his umbrella against the floor being the only sound in the flat.

But as soon as he shut the door to 221b, a ring sounded out throughout the flat.

Sherlock looked to where the noise came from.

His phone screen was alight.

He listened to Mycroft's fading footsteps and umbrella tap.

He listened to Mycroft shutting the door to 221 Baker Street.

He listened to the sound of a car door being closed.

He didn't make a move until he heard said car being driven away.

He took Elizabeth in to John's room and placed her in to her cot before returning and grabbing at his phone with a sudden euphoria.

Oh, this was just what he needed!

A case!

Finally, a _real_ case!

A case with a rather _rousing_ woman!

Just what had the _intoxicating_ Irene Adler been up too?

He smirked at all the possible situations that filled his head.

Oh the possibilities were _endless_!

He threw himself down on to the couch, letting his long legs hang off the edge as he began to look through the information Mycroft had sent him.

As he slipped in to his world of deduction, making plans for finding Miss Adler, Elizabeth left his mind; the little sleeping baby completely forgotten about in her cot.

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><p><strong>Authors Note: <strong>Isn't Sherlock just a bastard! Forgetting Elizabeth all because of Irene Adler! This chapter isn't as many words as normal but I didn't have much written down in my plan for this chapter. I just wanted to really have a chapter showing Mycroft's feelings on Sherlock and his situation; he's on Jenny's side: he doesn't think he can do it and unlike Jenny he doesn't think Sherlock should even be given a chance to show he can. Horrible brother! Anyways, not much more to say, please read 'A Dance In The Dark' when you have time and I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

Thanks for reading!

Petal.


	10. I'm Not Dead, I Swear

**I'm not dead, I swear.**

I've been putting this off for so long now.

Why?

It's simple really.

I didn't want to do this.

I honestly believed things would get better.

I thought my inspiration for this story would come back.

Sadly, I was mistaken.

Please, don't stop reading just because it's an author's note.

I have a few things I would like to say to you all.

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><p><em>One,<em> I hate author's notes and I am ever sorry that I am doing this to you all but I just don't want to write this story anymore and so I'm quite simply not going to. I won't delete it, just in case I get the inspiration for it again.

_Two_, I believe I should explain to you all exactly what I've been doing with my life as it'll clear up the reasons why I vanished so suddenly.

It wasn't just the lack of inspiration that stopped me from writing. I'm in my final year of Sixthform and that's a huge thing for me. I've had to work my arse off in order to try and get the grades I need to get in to University. I've had to stop doing a lot of small things that I enjoy in order to concentrate on my final couple months.

Writing being one of them.

Then there's the fact that I've been busy when I have free time.

This is my eighteenth year of living and so I've had quite a lot of parties to attend and where it's my last year with a lot of my friends, I've wanted to spend time with them before we all run off to conquer the world in our own ways.

So all in all, the reason I vanished from the world of fanfiction was because of education and… living.

At the beginning when I started writing on here this year it was because I had a lot of issues.

It helped me.

I still have those issues.

I deal with them daily.

However, I'm now mostly happy.

I don't need to create my own worlds every day anymore.

I love the one I live in.

_Thirdly_, this message sounds like I'm leaving you all.

I'm not.

I can promise you that.

I miss writing so much.

I can't even describe how much I miss it.

But I am happy to announce that my months of neglect have paid off for me.

I'm most likely going to be getting two Distinctions, which is an A, in my ICT course and so that means I'm most likely going to get in to my University as I have enough UCAS points to do so now. I'm yet to know my English Literature grade and won't know until the 16th August, but I'm not too bothered.

Why?

Because it means I'm finished.

I _leave_ Sixthform _tomorrow_.

That is why I am currently posting this author's note.

I will be _back_ writing within the _next week_.

_Fourthly, _I did not know much about the SAMFA Awards but I do know that I _won_. I won during a rather stressful time with revision and deadlines and so it was something that made me ever happy.

Thank-you so much to all those who nominated and voted for me!

I know I was up for two other awards too, one being the 'Best Sherlock' and I just felt so honoured to be in that category although I didn't win. (Emcee Frodis deserved their win though – they are actually so epic! Flawless, that's how they write!)

I can't believe you all actually think I write him that well!

Once again, thank-you to those who nominated and voted for me – you are all amazing and are the reason I want to continue writing!

_Finally, _although I am going to be writing again it will not be like last time.

I don't really want to start writing a multi-chapter story again.

I have my reasons for this:

-I don't want to lose the inspiration for it again.

-I'm planning on writing my own original story to get in to the flow of it before University (I'm studying creative writing) and simply because I want to write one.

-Like I said, it's my last summer with the people I've known for years. We're all going away soon and I want to spend as much time with them before it's going to be more difficult to do so.

-I now have a boyfriend. We haven't been together long but I really like him and I don't want to end up neglecting him because I'm caught up writing (believe me, it would happen ;]).

-It's my eighteenth birthday soon and I'm going to want to spend my summer doing the ridiculous things eighteen year olds are supposed to do. ;)

Finally, like I just said, it's my summer! I have loads of little things I want to do! I cannot get caught up with writing and not do them!

So, there are my reasons.

I will be doing oneshots though and maybe a short, short story.

I'll let the wind lead me.

I'm open to suggestions of stories people would like me to write – I like _hints_.

I think that would be a cool way to start this off again.

Hell, I don't even know if you all remember me or not but if you do and you still want to read stories written by me, please don't be shy about telling me something you'd like to see come to life in words. :)

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><p>To sum this up, I'll say one more thing:<p>

**I AM BACK, MUDDAFUCKERS!**

Ps. sorry for the length… it's been months… I like to talk… I had a lot to say…


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